The Gift That Keeps Giving
by Lixxle
Summary: COMPLETE! Based on Mercuralis’s pic “You know you want it”. It’s the King’s birthday; the goblins are on a present-buying spree using Sarah’s credit card, the King is acting a trifle emo, and Sarah is baking. Chaos and adult-type touching ensues. JS
1. Chapter 1

**The Gift That Keeps Giving**

I know, I know, I should be writing the Oz crossover prequel to _My Fine Feathered Friend_ but all the glitter was making me itchy. So this is just a little three-shot (if that is a term) based on Mercuralis's awesome pic of our sex-beast King, '_You Know You Want It_'. Check it out in all its glory at deviantArt (or click on the link in my bio page). You won't be sorry—he's wearing leather. LOTS of leather. Go on, check it out—I can wait (sings elevator music while you check out the pic).

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**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Labyrinth, creamed corn, or the _Chicken Lickin' _fast-food franchise. I do go to flamenco classes and completely suck at it, so much so that I would like to formally apologize to Spain for butchering their national dance. I studied salmon quite extensively at school...it's six months of my life that I will never get back.

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**Chapter 1: When Reality Is Stranger Than Dreams About Salmon**

Sarah was dreaming when the knocking started. The dream itself was not particularly notable—it was not a premonition of events to come, nor some profound revelation about the secrets of the universe, nor was it something more intimate and delicious that involved slow languid kisses on naked skin, and long-limbed men with wild golden hair. No, Sarah was having one of those mundane dreams where she was walking barefoot through a supermarket in search of creamed corn. She was sedately maneuvering her trolley—filled, inexplicably, with live salmon—past the other shoppers, when a woodpecker suddenly appeared and started to tap tap tap rhythmically against a bottle of cranberry juice. Sarah raised an eyebrow and walked on past, but then a rather sprightly old lady walked up and joined the woodpecker, rap rap rapping her cane against a can of tomato soup. By the time the troupe of flamenco dancers burst out from the cracker section and began to stomp stomp stomp their heeled shoes on the floor, the noise was so loud that Sarah was forced to abandon her salmon-filled trolley and place her hands firmly over her ears. Valiantly, she tried to ignore the banging and make her way to the canned goods aisle, but when she heard cries of "fraggedy fradggedy wokkawokka!" coming from the frozen peas section, she realized that something was definitely amiss and reluctantly allowed herself to wake up.

As she awoke, she noticed that the knocking, banging, tapping, and stomping, was still going strong…and it was coming from her mirror.

"Sarah! We need your help!" yelled voices from the mirror, trying to be heard above the sound of banging.

Sarah rolled over and looked at the alarm clock by her bed. Midnight. Well, that figures. With a sigh, she dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the dresser mirror.

Looking out of the mirror was a motley assortment of Labyrinth figures; there were three pixies, identical except for their different wing colors; three flagstone brownies, all currently jumping up and down in a rather frantic fashion; and three goblins whom she had given a bag of marshmallows to only last week. Seeing that Sarah was awake, they abruptly stopped their banging.

"Hi!" they called out happily and waved.

Sarah attempted to wave back but instead covered a yawn. "What's wrong?" she slurred.

"We're sorry to wake you, but we need your help," said a rather polite pixie with blue wings.

"We are about to be bogged!" cried a goblin with a twitchy eye.

Sarah woke up immediately. "What!? Right this minute?!" she said in alarm, looking past the creatures to see if she could catch a glimpse of the vengeful King.

"No, not yet. But soon," said a pixie with gold wings quite anxiously.

Sarah pursed her lips. "What did you guys do? Did you get into the King's wardrobe?"

The creatures looked horrified.

"Oh no! That's punishable by certain death, not bogging," said the pixie with pink wings.

"_Big_ difference," said a goblin with a dented helmet.

The goblin with the beaky nose turned to his companions. "Do you guys remember what happened to Vlod?"

"Ooohhh," they said, shaking their heads sorrowfully.

Sarah tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes. "What happened to Vlod?"

The goblin with the beaky nose sighed. "We once dared Vlod to put on the King's boots and sing and dance around the throne room while the King was away."

"What happened?" Sarah asked curiously.

"The King wasn't as away as we thought," said the twitchy-eyed goblin a little guiltily.

"Actually, he was still sitting on his throne," said the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Oh dear," said Sarah. "So what happened to Vlod?"

They all shrugged.

"Gone," said the blue-winged pixie.

"Like magic," said the goblin with the beaky nose.

"But with more disappearing," said the goblin with the twitchy eye.

"_Much_ more disappearing," clarified the goblin with the dented helmet.

Sarah shook her head. "Ok, as sorry as I am for poor Vlod, why did you guys come here tonight? How can I prevent you from being bogged?"

"It's the King's birthday," explained the blue-winged pixie.

"In two days!" said the shy pink-winged pixie.

"Each group of subjects has to present a gift to the King. Every group has got their present organized, even the dwarves…" said the gold-winged pixie.

"…except for the pixies, and the brownies, and the goblins," the blue-winged pixie explained.

"And if we don't get one, we'll be bogged!" the twitchy-eyed goblin cried, throwing his hands into the air melodramatically.

"Afreakakhewakawak" yelled a brownie, and started running around in circles.

Sarah quickly put her hand over the brownie's mouth. "You really need to calm down. Seriously."

The brownie nodded in agreement, but then ruined the effect by twitching.

"All the good gifts are gone. So we need your help to get something great. We bought you treasures to pay for the presents," said the goblin with the beaky nose.

Two brownies hauled over a small red velvet sack and presented it to Sarah.

"Look inside-edy wokkawokka!" the brownies yelled excitedly.

Sarah smiled at the group and dutifully reached into the sack. She pulled out an apple core, three copper coins, a bent spoon, four black chicken feathers, a glittery button that looked as though it had been liberated from the Goblin King's apparel, an hourglass where the blue sands shifted up instead of down, a shiny black rock, two moldy turnips, and half of a blue beetle.

"Where is the rest of the beetle?" Sarah asked curiously.

The goblin with the beaky nose covered his eyes, shame-faced. "Sorry, I got hungry waiting for you to wake up."

Sarah patted him on the shoulder. "Well, that is quite the collection of treasures, but I can't take you out shopping now. It's too late, nothing is open. But…," she said, looking at her computer. "…maybe I can help you order some presents for the King."

"YEAHHHYY!!" the creatures cheered.

"But you guys have to be quiet!" she said, whispering. "Or I'll get thrown out of my apartment, and then I'll be forced to live on the streets, wandering around like the Wise Man."

"You'll grow a _beard_?" asked the goblin with the twitchy eye in horrified fascination.

The creatures all looked at her chin.

"I bet you'd look lovely with a beard," the pink-winged pixie said loyally.

The rest of the creatures nodded.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Sarah said wryly. She walked over to her desk and sat down at her computer. "So, what do you want to get him?"

The creatures sighed. "That's the problem," said the gold-winged pixie.

"We don't know what to get him! It's a catastrophe!" said the goblin with the dented helmet, putting his face in his hands in utter hopelessness.

Sarah's lips quirked. "Ok, what does the King like?"

The creatures thought for a moment and then began to yell out suggestions.

"He likes bogging us!"

"And black—he loves black."

"And clothes!"

"_Black_ clothes."

"And reading!"

"And dancing!"

"And breathing!"

"And flinging us out of windows!"

"And singing!"

"And bogging us!"

"I think you've already mentioned bogging," Sarah pointed out.

"Yes, but he _really _likes that," said the gold-winged pixie.

"So we should say it twice," explained the goblin with the dented helmet.

Sarah shook her head. "We're not getting him another bog. He does enough damage with the one he has."

"True," said the blue-winged pixie, sighing. "Which is _such_ a shame because a bog would be perfect."

They all nodded.

Sarah turned to the computer and clicked on to an online shopping website that she had used in the past. "Ok, on here you can get presents for the King and they will be delivered by tomorrow afternoon if we order overnight delivery. They'll even wrap them up for you."

"Just like magic!" said the twitchy-eyed goblin.

"But with less glitter," amended the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Now," Sarah said briskly, "if we discount the bog, you guys said that he likes clothes…"

"Black clothes," corrected the goblin with the dented helmet.

"_Black _clothes," Sarah amended, "reading, singing, dancing…what am I missing?"

"Fling-edy fling-edy wokkawokka!" yelled the brownies.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Flinging things out of windows—how could I have forgotten? So why don't you each pick one of the King's favorite things and then choose a present to match?"

"It's a sound plan," said the blue-winged pixie, nodding.

Sarah smiled. "I'm glad you approve. So, who's first?"

The pixies put up their hands. "Oh us! Us!"

The pixies huddled close together, whispering. After about a minute, they looked up.

"We want to get the King something to read," they chorused.

Sarah nodded. "That's a good choice. Here, let's choose a book …"

The pixies shook their heads frantically. "No no, Sarah! You can't help us. It must be a _secret_."

Sarah's mouth dropped open. "But I'm not going to tell the King! I haven't spoken to him in…"

_You have no power over me._

"…years." Sarah sighed. "Many many years. And I doubt that I ever will." The thought was a little like a bruise, one that Sarah knew better than to probe.

"Still," said the blue-winged pixie, "you _might_ talk to him if you had a secret to tell him."

Sarah shook her head. "I won't tell him. I promise."

The pixies shook their heads frantically.

"Oh but _we'd_ tell him if we knew a secret; we just couldn't help ourselves! As it is, we'll have to avoid him for the next few days so that we don't tell him what we bought," the gold-winged pixie said anxiously.

Sarah threw her hands in the air. "Fine! I give up! I promise that I won't look at what you buy the King. But if you want this to be a secret, you're going to have to let me show you how use the Internet."

The pixies nodded happily and Sarah quickly showed them how to use the mouse and how to navigate around the page.

"Ok, now you have to turn around!" they squeaked, giggling uncontrollably.

Sarah reluctantly turned around, only to catch the beaky-nosed goblin in the act of trying to eat her pink throw cushion. The cushion-chewing goblin shrugged apologetically. Sarah frowned at him and pulled the cushion from his mouth.

"No eating the furnishings," she said sternly. "It will make you sick."

The beaky-nosed goblin sighed. "I was hoping it was a marshmallow."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Doesn't the King ever feed you guys? How about I get you all a sandwich?"

"A marshmallow sandwich?" asked the beaky goblin hopefully.

"We'll see," she said dubiously.

"Yeahhhy!" the creatures cheered.

By the time Sarah returned from the kitchen with the sandwiches, the pixies had selected their gift and were giggling away happily.

"Ok, who's next?" asked Sarah.

"Oh us!" cried the goblins excitedly and ran up to the computer.

"So what do you want to buy the King?" Sarah asked.

"Clothes!" they shouted.

"_Black _clothes," clarified the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Let me guess—you want this to be a secret too?"

The goblins nodded.

Sarah sighed. "Fine, let me show you how to use the mouse."

The goblins looked at the mouse, puzzled. The goblin with the beaky nose bent down and licked it.

"Doesn't taste like a mouse," he said in disappointment. "Here, see what you think, Sarah," he offered generously.

"Ahh…I'll take your word for it," she said bemused, looking at the moist mouse. With a sigh, she wiped it down with a tissue and tried to teach the goblins how to use the faux mouse to move around the page.

"Ok, you got it?" she asked.

The goblins nodded solemnly.

"Let me know if you need anything, and don't lick anything else, ok?"

"Ok!" they chorused.

Sarah turned her back on the goblins so that they could order their black clothing in secret. She looked down at the floor and blinked. Someone…several someones …had taken down all of the books from her shelf and neatly laid them onto the floor to create a makeshift path.

"O-kay," she said slowly.

She began to follow the path, which wound through her bedroom and out the door into her living room. At the end of the path, the three flagstone brownies were carefully flipping over a copy of _Alice in Wonderland_.

"Gotit? Gotit? Gotit?" yelled one.

"Yep! Yep! Yep!" yelled another.

"Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! You're mother is a fraggin' aardvark!" yelled the third when the book almost fell on him.

Once they had maneuvered the book onto the floor without further mishap, the brownies pushed it into place beside the other books and looked admiringly at their handiwork.

"Nice path guys," Sarah said encouragingly.

"Thanks-ity thanks-ity wokkawokka!" said the brownies, jumping up and down.

'SARAH WE'RE FINISHED!" the goblins yelled.

Sarah rolled her eyes. If she was evicted, she would force Jareth to reorder time until she was _un-_evicted.

"Ok guys," she said to the industrious brownies. "You're up next."

Sarah walked back into the bedroom, the brownies following her along their brand-new path.

"So what do you want to get the King?" she asked as she settled the brownies next to the computer.

"Fling things!" yelled one.

"Fling-ity fling-ity wokkawokkayeahhhy!!" yelled another.

Sarah frowned. "Hmm, I don't think you'll find a catapult on this website. You may have to settle for a slingshot."

"SLINGSHOT! SLINGSHOT!" they chorused, twitching manically.

Sarah put up her hands defensively. "Guys calm down, ok? Let me show you how to do this…"

Although Sarah tried repeatedly to show the brownies how to use the mouse, their hyperactive mouse clicks meant that they flicked through the pages far too quickly to see any of the shopping items. Clearly this was not working.

"Ok, stop, stop!" said Sarah, taking hold of the mouse. "You guys have _got_ to calm down." She paused for a moment, an idea forming. "Hang on, just sit here a moment."

She ran out of the room, past the goblins and the pixies who were eating sandwiches in front of the television, and into the kitchen where she riffled through her vitamin draw.

"NOOOOO!!" yelled the goblins from the living room.

Sarah grabbed what she was looking for and ran out to see what the commotion was all about.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at the goblins who appeared to be completely grief-stricken. "What are you watching?"

"Horror movie," said the goblin with the twitchy eye, pointing a shaking finger toward the screen. He turned away, as if he could not bear to watch a moment longer.

Sarah looked curiously at the television and saw that it was showing an advertisement where a man dressed as a chicken was encouraging people to go to _Chicken-Lickin_', a fast-food chicken outlet.

"Oh dear," said Sarah, sighing. She looked at the chicken-loving goblins. "Are you guys ok?"

"No," they said shakily, covering their eyes with their hands.

"Why is the giant chicken trying to get people to eat chicken?" asked a puzzled pixie. "Doesn't he like his friends?"

"He's a traitor!" yelled the goblin with the dented helmet.

"_Chicken-Lickin' _is a death trap!" cried the goblin with the twitchy eye.

Sarah tried not to smile. "It's television—nothing is what it seems on television. Your chickens are safe."

"Ohhhh!" said the goblins, uncovering their eyes. They looked much happier now that their beloved chickens were no longer in danger of being consumed at _Chicken-Lickin'_ at the urgings of a giant treasonous piece of poultry.

Sarah picked up the remote control and quickly flicked through the channels until she got to a re-run of _Godzilla_.

"Here," she said, "you'll like this; a big lizard comes to the city and squashes a lot of people."

"YEAHHY!" they cheered. "Go lizard!"

"I hope he squashes that big chicken," muttered the twitchy-eyed goblin.

Sarah shook her head and went back to her room where the brownies were jumping up and down manically on her bed.

"Here," she said, opening a pill bottle and giving them one pill each. "This is _Calm-Ease_; it's an herbal supplement that helps you relax. I take it whenever I have something stressful to deal with or when I have problems sleeping. It's extra strength so it should even calm you guys down. Just swallow it."

The brownies sniffed their pills suspiciously and then swallowed them down. Almost immediately, they stopped bouncing.

"Wow," said one. "I feel so…mellow."

"I feel like a brand new brownie!" said another.

"Everything is just so _clear_ to me now," said the third brownie.

"O-kay. That worked fast," Sarah said, bemused.

One brownie shook his head a little. "Thanks Sarah! I don't think we've been properly introduced—I'm Fitch, this is Fretzel," Fretzel waved to Sarah, "and that fellow over there is Fitzmark." Fitzmark gave her the thumbs up.

"It's nice to meet you all," Sarah said, smiling. "So, shall we try again to buy the King a gift?"

"By all means," Fitch said gracefully, and the brownies sedately climbed off the bed and sat down at the computer.

Still a little bemused, Sarah taught the brownies how to move through the website. Oddly enough, they kept navigating toward the Women's Lingerie section. Strange. Either they were perverts or they knew something about the King that she didn't. She mentally shrugged. Given that these creatures were from the Labyrinth, and their King had a penchant for peach lip-gloss, either option was equally possible.

While the brownies chose their gift in secret, Sarah took a minute to sit down and catch her breath. She looked up at a shelf above her bed where a few childhood keepsakes still sat, most of which were reminders of the Labyrinth. In the centre, was her figurine of the Goblin King. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. In all the years since her big adventure in the Underground, she had seen glimpses of the Labyrinth every single day—her friends would regularly come by for a chat; pixies would wave impishly from the restroom mirrors; goblins would drop by to "borrow" marshmallows; and fairies would often light her way home on dark nights when the street lights were out. Over the years, almost every one of the Labyrinth's citizens had visited to say hello…that is, every one except their King. She had heard about him, of course; her visitors had discussed him in detail—whom he had bogged, what devilish task he had set for the latest runner, what he had said to some poor unlucky goblin, what he sang to the wished-away children, even what he wore. It was maddening, in a way; she knew all about him, but never saw him, and never spoke to him.

It seemed that her fairytale was missing its villain.

_Or its hero,_ her heart whispered, traitorous little organ that it was. Sarah blinked. It was a rather unexpected and fairly uncomfortable thought. Sarah decided to attribute it to indigestion.

"We're all done!" said Fitch, breaking Sarah's reverie.

"Can we have another pill? I'm starting to feel a little jumpy," asked Fitzmark, twitching a little.

Sarah patted Fitzmark on the shoulder consolingly. "Sorry guys—you have to wait at least three hours for another one."

"Oh no! The madness will start all over again!" said Fretzel, pacing around in a circle.

"Hang on," said Sarah. She ran off to the kitchen and brought back a digital timer. "Here. I've set it to go off in three hours. When the alarm goes off, you can take another pill, but not before then," she warned, handing over the _Calm-Ease_ and the timer.

"Thanks Sarah!" said the brownies.

"By the way, we're sorry that we changed your markings on the flagstones when you ran the Labyrinth," said Flitch.

"We had to—it's in our job description," said Fitzmark.

"Plus the King would have kicked our asses if we didn't…fraggin' aardvark," Fretzel grumbled.

"No problem, guys," said Sarah, smiling. "Why don't you round up the others and we'll choose some wrapping for the gifts?"

The brownies nodded happily and ran off to the living room, where she could hear the goblins and pixies cheering on Godzilla's path of destruction.

When all the creatures were back in her room, Sarah reclaimed her seat at the computer, and clicked onto the gift wrap section. In the corner of the screen there was an animated icon of a woman in a red gown jumping out of a birthday cake.

"Oh no! That cake ate the woman!" the gold-winged pixie said, horrified.

"Cakes are dangerous Aboveground," said twitchy-eyed goblin.

Sarah laughed. "No, no. The cake didn't eat the woman. The woman is jumping out of the cake—it is supposed to be a surprise."

"So people here like it when their cake is filled with women?" asked Fitch.

"You'd think it would make the cake taste funny," said the beaky-nosed goblin, shaking his head in disapproval.

Sarah smiled. "No, she doesn't actually touch the cake—the cake is hollow on the inside, so that she can jump out."

"Oohhh!" they said, nodding.

"It's a good idea," said the gold-winged pixie. "You really wouldn't expect it, would you?"

"Very surprising," said goblin with the dented helmet.

Sarah turned to the pixies. "Ok, what color would you like your wrapping paper to be?"

"Yellow!" they chorused. "So that it matches the King's hair," said the pink-winged pixie.

"Good choice," said Sarah, selecting the color. "Ok, what about you guys?" she asked the brownies.

"Blue!" they chorused. "So that it matches one of the King's eyes."

Sarah nodded and selected the color. "Which just leaves you guys. What color will it be?" she asked the goblins.

"Red!" they chorused. "So it matches the King's face."

Sarah looked at the goblins quizzically. "Unless the Goblin King has developed a nasty sunburn since the last time I saw him, his face isn't red."

"Oh it goes red," said the beaky-nosed goblin.

"When we do something wrong," clarified the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Like last winter, when we put the chickens in his bed to warm them up," said the twitchy-eyed goblin.

"It went _very _red that day," the goblin with the dented helmet snickered.

Sarah tried not to laugh at the vision of the unsuspecting King retiring for the night only to find his bed full of poultry. "Red it is," she said, selecting the color.

With a few last clicks of the mouse, Sarah finished processing the order. "Well, we're all done. Come and collect them tomorrow, ok?"

"THANKS SARAH!" they chorused.

The gold-winged pixie sighed. "Well, I hope he likes them. He gets all funny on his birthday."

"Well, he's always pretty funny; he gets _funnier_ on his birthday," clarified the goblin with the dented helmet.

Sarah pursed her lips. "What do you mean 'funny'? 'Funny' as in 'tells jokes'?'

The pink-winged pixie shook her head. "Oh no! 'Funny' as in 'sad' and 'funny' as in 'strange'. He stays in his chambers a lot on his birthday."

"And uses big words like 'futility', and 'angst'," said the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Though he's has been a lot worse since…," the gold-winged pixie looked at Sarah and stopped speaking abruptly.

"Since when?" asked Sarah.

Oddly enough, the creatures all started to clear their throats and look around the room, ignoring her question entirely.

Sarah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Since when?"

The creatures looked at each other in alarm. The blue-winged pixie desperately glanced toward Sarah's alarm clock.

"Oh is that the time? We'd better be off then," the blue-winged pixie said hurriedly.

Sarah's eyes narrowed further.

The others quickly agreed and rushed toward the mirror. "Thanks Sarah!" they called, stepping through the glass.

Sarah sighed. "Remember to come back tomorrow!" she shouted after them.

"We will! BYE!" they yelled.

Sarah waved goodbye until they disappeared and then sat down at her computer. Just as she was about to logoff the shopping website, she saw a picture of a karoke machine. It was sitting there—all shiny silver and rich in microphone-y goodness—just waiting to be bought. _The King loves to sing_, she thought. She eyed the slogan above the machine; "Fun for the whole family!". Sarah smiled, imagining the havoc that would result from introducing a karoke machine to the Goblin Kingdom. She tapped her fingers on the desk and, for a moment, entertained an almost irresistible compulsion to buy the King the karaoke machine as a birthday gift. She could picture it, wrapped in silver paper with a large white ribbon, sitting amongst the gifts from the other members of the Kingdom. For a moment, she even imagined the King opening the gift and looking pleased…

Sarah shook her head ruefully. _Silly girl,_ she thought. _Here you are pining away…_She stopped. Her mind objected to that statement quite strongly. She tried again. _Here you are _dwelling_ on the Goblin King when he probably hasn't thought of you in years. He probably doesn't even remember you. _She imagined sending him the karaoke machine only to have him read the card and mutter: "Sarah? Sarah, Sarah tra la la? Do I _know_ this ordinary girl?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and shut down the computer. Sometimes the way forward is to just forget about lithely handsome fairytale kings with all their ballroom promises and their melodious voices and their excruciating snug tailored pants. _Damn him and his excruciating snug tailored pants,_ she thought irrationally.

Sarah looked over at her alarm clock and sighed. She was supposed to be up early tomorrow—her latest chapter was late and her editor was already on her back—and here it was, three AM, and she was wide awake. It was barely worth going back to sleep. Nevertheless, she poured herself back into bed, and threw the covers over her head. _I'll never get back to sleep now,_ she thought. But she did. Rather quickly in fact, and she dreamt that she was in the Escher room in the Castle Beyond the Goblin City all over again, running up and down staircases set at impossible angles, toward a man with wild star-kissed hair and mismatched eyes, who was forever just out of reach.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: **

Free trolley full of spawning salmon to all those who review. I will also throw in a can of creamed corn ABSOLUTELY FREE to anyone who can guess just what _type _of book the pixies bought the King…

This has been a community service announcement…


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Many thanks for the reviews! It seems as though no-one wanted the salmon, which is probably for the best because you really don't want to know where it has been.

Kore-of-Myth, Hellica, & StarGirlX: you are my kind of gals. I, too, would love to give the Goblin King a personal tour through the _Karma Sutra_…

FaeriesMidwife: (pours double shot of cough syrup and passes one over)

thetankgirl: ah, no, he doesn't like the gifts. But when you know what they are, you really can't blame him.

Soni: I miss Skeep too. He is hanging out with Jack Hawksmoor at the moment, fighting neighborhood cats with his kidneys fork while wearing a tiara. He's buffing up for the MFFF prequel.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing even vaguely Labyrinth-y belongs to me. No fireys or lingerie were harmed in the making of this chapter, however a goblin got indigestion and a pixie developed a mild case of vertigo. A plum was also slightly insulted.

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**Chapter 2: It's a (rather dubious, possibly even faintly perverse) present**

Jareth woke up.

And swore.

"Damn. I appear to still be alive," he said resignedly, looking up at the constellations that had been etched into the domed ceiling of his bedchamber.

And then he remembered that it was his birthday. And swore again, with slightly more flair.

"Alive _and _older. At least the day can't get worse."

There was a knock on his bedchamber door.

"Ahh…spoke to soon," he said pleasantly.

"Your Majesty?" a voice called out from behind the door. It was one of the goblin guards.

Jareth put the pillow over his head. "He's not here."

There was a gasp from behind the door. "He's lost?"

"Afraid so, old chap," the King said.

"Oh no, he's going to be _so _mad that we lost him!" said the worried voice of the goblin guard. "Do you know where he could be?"

"Try the bog," Jareth suggested pleasantly.

"He bogged_ himself_?" said the guard.

Perversely, Jareth was starting to enjoy himself. "Well, you know the King…"

"He does like to bog things…" the guard said thoughtfully.

"Yes, yes he does," Jareth said dryly. "Each time that he dips one of his imbecilic subjects into the fetid waters of the bog, he feels as though he has attained a small measure of control over his chaotic yet increasingly pointless existence in this realm."

The goblin guard seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "We always thought he did it because he liked the splash the folks made when they fell into the water."

"That too," Jareth admitted.

"Oh, ok then. Well, thanks for your help!" said the guard.

"Don't mention it," said Jareth, and pulled the soft feather-down quilt over his head.

"Oh and if you see the King, tell him that everyone is waiting for him to open his presents in the throne room," the guard called.

Jareth groaned. "I'm sure that pronouncement will make him so ecstatic that he will probably attempt to re-bog himself. Or take his own life by licking an iron skillet."

"You think so?" the guard gasped.

"I bet he can almost taste that skillet."

The guard gasped. "Then I had better hurry. Bye!" he said cheerily.

"Have fun," said Jareth, and buried himself further under the covers.

For a brief and shining moment, Jareth wondered if he could keep up the charade for the rest of the day. Then the words of the guard finally sunk in—everyone was already in the throne room. History had taught him the hard way that his ale-filled throne room was surprisingly flammable, despite the fact that there was very little in his throne room to burn other than ale-filled goblins who, ironically enough, seemed fairly impervious to flames. And even if the throne room was _not_ currently on fire, it _was_ currently filled with various members of his kingdom who hated each other. If he delayed, there would be goblin-beatings, gnome-throwing, dwarf-wrestling, and brownie-flinging, and frankly, he didn't want to miss the show.

Jareth dragged himself out of bed as regally as possible and stared at his closet with complete and utter loathing. Hanging from the door, in all its glittery glory, was his birthday suit (so to speak)—a fairytale concoction of claret-colored velvet, silver lace, and the odd tasteful smattering of crystal beads.

With a sigh and a wave of his hand, he was wearing the outfit. He looked at himself in the mirror and blanched. "What the _hell_ was I thinking?" He turned around a grimaced. "Oh well done! You look like a freakishly large piece of fruit. Possibly even a malevolent plum," he said in horror, gazing at his red velvet-clad reflection.

With a wave it was gone, replaced by his usual open-necked shirt, and leather pants and jacket ensemble. He sighed contentedly. Leather was strong, and flame-resistant, and could be wiped clean. He had a terrible feeling that all of these features would come in handy by the end of the day.

* * *

After an hour of unwrapping gifts—gifts that ranged from a worm-on-a-stick (much to the aforementioned worm's vocal dismay) to a large bag of glitter that had been squeezed from the juiciest of fairies against their will—Jareth was thinking longingly of the eternal rest that only a good skillet-licking could give him. With a sigh, he looked over at the large pile of presents still to be unwrapped and noticed something odd.

Three 'somethings odd', to be precise.

Amongst the misshapen gifts wrapped in dull grays and browns stood three presents that were beautifully wrapped in brightly colored paper and crisp white ribbon. They looked completely out of place. In fact, they looked as though they had come from somewhere else entirely…

Somewhere else.

From someone else?

Birthday presents from someone who was somewhere else?

To Jareth's complete dismay, he felt his heart race a little at the thought…a thought which, despite his better judgment, grew and took wings. _Surely not,_ he reasoned to himself, trying to put a damper on the surge of joy that was even now singing through his veins. _Why would she? Why would she give me something now, after so long? _

Without conscious thought, his fingers began to trace over the wrapping of the brightly colored presents, and _something _awoke deep within him—something bruised and long-buried, something that felt suspiciously like _Hope_—and it whispered: _Well maybe it was a good thing that you held off on licking that skillet_…

Jareth took a deep breath and looked down at his subjects. He gestured nonchalantly to one of the brightly wrapped gifts. "And who is this from?" he asked with studied indifference.

A small group of pixies put up their hands.

The marvelous surge of joy that had been skipping through Jareth's veins abruptly stuttered and died. _Reality_ reared up and kicked _Hope_ quite methodically in the crotch. It then informed the Goblin King to start licking that skillet whenever he was ready.

Jareth ruthlessly pushed down his disappointment and picked up the yellow-papered present. "This is rather unusually wrapped—did you have help?" he asked the pixies.

_Hope_, rolling around on the floor in agony, lifted its head.

The pixies nodded. "The Lady Sarah helped us."

_Reality_, reaching down to place _Hope _in a headlock, paused.

Jareth arranged his features into his habitual indifferent mask. "And did the Lady Sarah choose the gift?" he asked in a deceptively bored tone.

The pixies shook their heads. "Oh no—we wanted it to be a secret. She just got it for us on her magic screen. Even she doesn't know what it is," they said, giggling happily.

Jareth thought about that for a moment. Sarah was helping his subjects to get him birthday gifts, although she herself had not bought him one. _Hope_ and _Reality_ called it a tie and both went off to get drunk.

Jareth carefully pulled the ribbon from the pixies' present, and then removed the wrapping, revealing a book. Arching one eyebrow, he read the title. "_A Rake's Wanton Lust?_" he said dubiously, looking at the pixies.

The pixies looked up at him proudly.

Jareth cleared his throat. "Pray tell—why did you choose this book?"

"He reminded us of you," said the blue-winged pixie, pointing to the cover.

Jareth looked at the man on the front of the book. He was shirtless, wearing only pants and boots. He had long dark hair and an eye-patch; his good eye was leering at the cleavage of the rather scantily-clad tavern-wench who was swooning in his arms.

Jareth raised a delicately arched eyebrow. "And what exactly about this dubious-looking fellow reminded you of me? Was it my propensity to run around shirtless, perhaps? Or my eye-patch? Or was the way that I walk around the Castle wrapped in a half-dressed woman?" he inquired pleasantly.

"It was his pants," the pink-winged pixie said, pointing to the rake's tight trousers.

"Ahh," said Jareth. He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"Here," the gold-winged pixie said, opening the book at a random page. "Read us a little bit. Please, your Majesty?"

Jareth looked at the cover and blinked. "I am concerned that reading this to you may actually leach away what little intellect you all possess."

"_Please_, your Majesty?" the crowd pleaded.

Jareth sighed and regally inclined his head. Everyone clapped. "Though I am only reading this one page," he warned.

Everyone nodded happily.

Jareth settled down more comfortably on his throne and cleared his throat. He then began to read in his melodious voice. "Alasdair let out a roar like a wild beast." He paused. "Well, we've all done that before, haven't we chaps?" he said, smiling a cold pointy smile.

Everyone, especially the trolls, roared in agreement.

Jareth continued. "Taking four large strides toward the bed, Alasdair threw himself onto Hortensia in a wild frenzy, which made her shiver with lust-filled delight. He took his throbbing love wand and…" Jareth stopped abruptly. "What the devil kind of book is this?!" he yelled.

"Love wand? Is this a story about a wizard?" asked the blue-winged pixie.

"I've never heard of a wizard having a love wand before," said a goblin dubiously.

"Oh we have them alright—whether we get the opportunity to use them or not is another story," Jareth muttered under his breath.

Another goblin piped up. "What does a love wand look—"

Jareth quickly interrupted. "Let's open another present, shall we?" he said with forced gaiety, picking up another of the beautifully wrapped presents. "I take it that Sarah had a hand in this one as well?"

The brownies nodded.

Jareth began to untie the ribbon. "And what do we have in here?"

"Slingshot!" yelled Fitch. And then covered his mouth.

The rest of the brownies jumped on him. "You ruined the surprise-edy wokkawokka! You is a fraggin' llama!" one yelled.

Jareth smirked at them. He opened the small blue package and blinked. "Oh my lord," he said in shock, and pulled out a pink floral g-string.

"SLINGSHOT! SLINGSHOT!" the brownies yelled, jumping up and down.

The goblins peered at the slingshot. "It's an odd looking slingshot," said the goblin with the dented helmet.

"Why are there flowers on it?" asked the beaky-nosed goblin.

"It's obviously a flower killing slingshot," said a pixie wisely.

"Ohhhh," said the crowd.

"Never did like flowers," said one of the dwarf gardeners.

"And did Sarah help you choose the…slingshot?" Jareth asked the brownies.

The brownies shook their heads frantically. "No!No!No!No!No!No!" they yelled, jumping up and down.

Suddenly there was the sound of an alarm going off. "Pill time! Pill time-edy wokkawokka!" yelled Fitch.

Jareth watched in amazement as the brownies passed around a bottle of pills and popped one each.

"Oh yeah, that hit the spot," said Fretzel, taking a deep breath.

"Hope you enjoy the slingshot, Majesty," said the newly-chilled Fitch.

"Fling things in good health," said Fitzmark, saluting the King.

"Many thanks," Jareth said, bemused.

He reached down and took the pill bottle from Fretzel. Raising an eyebrow, he began to read the label. _"Calm-Ease: Prevents insomnia, sleeplessness, and promotes a sense of calmness and well-being._" He looked over at the brownies who were displaying definite signs of calmness and well-being…almost to the point of looking drugged. "Extra strength, hey?"

The brownies nodded happily.

"I take it you got these from Sarah?"

"Yeah, she's a doll," said Fretzel, lounging back on the throne room floor.

"Quite," said Jareth.

Jareth handed Fretzel the pill bottle and picked up another beautifully-wrapped present.

"I'm almost afraid to open this," he muttered.

"It's from us!" said the goblins. They all nodded to each other.

Jareth blinked. "Now I am terrified."

Jareth grabbed the _Calm-Ease_ bottle back from Fretzel, shook out a pill, and swallowed it quickly. He then tilted his head and waited. The crowd held its breath.

Several minutes ticked past.

A small goblin elbowed the one standing next to him. "I accidentally blinked—did I miss something?"

The other goblin shook his head and then cursed. "I just shook my head—did I miss something?"

The first goblin shrugged and then cursed. "I just shrugged—did I miss something?"

This continued for some time, until a dwarf standing nearby mercifully ended their conversation by kicking them both into the stone pit in the centre of the throne room.

The crowd went back to watching their King.

"Damn," cursed Jareth when it was apparent that he was not about to feel extra-strength calmness and well-being. He sighed. Perhaps he was beyond _Calm-Ease_. He wondered if they made _Coma-Ease_.

Shrugging in defeat, Jareth looked down at the shiny red package. Last year, the goblins had wrapped their present—a thoroughbred racing chicken—in an old shirt. Unfortunately, a goblin was still wearing the shirt at the time and had objected quite strenuously to having being wrapped around a chicken, even if it was a thoroughbred racing chicken.

"Let me guess—Sarah helped you purchase this present?" the King surmised.

They nodded happily.

"But she didn't choose it," he clarified.

They nodded again.

"I think you should probably rethink that tactic next year," he recommended.

Jareth took a deep breath and pulled off the white ribbon. He carefully peeled open the red wrapping and momentarily shut his eyes to hold off the inevitable horror that he would feel when viewing the present. When he finally opened his eyes, he realized that the goblins had given him a black t-shirt. Perhaps things were looking up….

"We know how you like wearing clothes, your Majesty," said a small beaky-nosed goblin.

"Very observant of you fellows to realize that I don't typically walk around naked," Jareth remarked dryly.

He lifted the shirt out of the box and turned it around; it was then that he saw the slogan written on the front in jaunty grey letters. He sighed. "I knew it was too good to be true."

Jareth turned the shirt toward the goblins. "Do any of you know what this says?"

The goblins shook their heads proudly.

The goblin with the dented helmet piped up. "No, though we think it had something to do with chickens. Maybe something like _I love chickens_, or _Chickens are good for kicking_."

Jareth gave them a puzzled look. "And why the devil would you think that it has something to do with chickens?"

"Because there was a picture of a chicken next to it on the magic screen," said the goblin with the twitchy eye.

"That's why we chose it!" said the beaky-nosed goblin, as if it were obvious.

"Of course," said Jareth. He looked at the goblins keenly. "And Sarah did not tell you what this said?"

They shook their heads.

"Put it on, Majesty," urged a small goblin who was hugging a chicken against its will.

Jareth was about to refuse, but then changed his mind when he realized that if he said no, they would probably ask him demonstrate the slingshot. With a wave of his hand, he was wearing the t-shirt.

"YEAHHHY!!" the goblins yelled.

Jareth looked down at the shirt and told himself that it could be worse—it could have been pink, or transparent, or…heaven forbid!...they may have bought him a brassiere to match the slingshot. He attempted a smile—the result was rather terrifying.

"Well, the gifts this year have been…unexpected. Aside from these last few presents which are clearly unparalleled in their idiocy, I'm not sure if any gift will rival the stick that allegedly resembles my elbow…" he said dryly, gesturing to the elbow stick.

A set of woodland sprites puffed up their chests proudly.

"…and we will all mourn the fact that the block of cheese sculptured in my likeness was attacked by bog rats in the Castle foyer."

"That was from us!" said the dwarf representative happily. Hoggle covered his eyes.

"So, many thanks to you all. As per usual, the festivities will continue in the courtyard, where there will be more than sufficient ale to intoxicate you all to the point of insensibility."

"YEAHYY!!" the crowd cheered.

Jareth held up a hand for silence. "However, if you do intend to consume your body weight in alcohol, please ensure that you do not stand too close to any of the bonfires. What did we learn from the events of last year?"

"It's-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-becomes-a-flaming-torch-and-sets-fire-to-the-hedgemaze," the crowd chorused.

"Excellent," said Jareth. "Now, if you will excuse me, I shall head off to my chambers where I will wallow in existential angst and mourn the futility of my existence for the rest of the day."

"YEAHHYY!!" the crowd cheered.

Before Jareth could disappear, one of the guards tugged on his leather trousers. "Oh but wait, we have a special cake for you, Majesty!"

At the mention of cake, Jareth perked up slightly. The crowd parted and a cake, taller than Jareth, was wheeled toward him. He had to admit that it was a very handsome cake—eight tiers covered in creamy icing and dotted with tiny blue berries. It looked too good to be true, which, in the Labyrinth, meant that it was.

Jareth raised an eyebrow at the goblins. "None of you fellows made the cake, did you?"

They shook their heads. "Oh no, it was the cook."

Jareth sighed in relief. The cake was wheeled in front of Jareth and one of the guards handed him a knife. Just as he was about to cut into the first tier, the cake began to rock violently back and forth.

"EARTHQUAKE!" yelled a goblin and ran screaming from the room.

Jareth rolled his eyes and continued to watch, intrigued, as the cake began to shake and crack. Suddenly, the top of the cake completely blew off and out popped a firey.

"SURPRISE!" the firey yelled, wagging his ears. "Happy birthday, boss man!"

It had been a tough day for the Goblin King. He had stoically suffered the indignity of receiving lingerie, the disappointment of being forgotten, yet again, by his one true love, and the betrayal of not receiving a sense of calmness and well-being from _Calm-Ease_ even thought it gave extra-strength promises. But really, a man's birthday cake was sacred. This really was the final straw.

"Get the hell out of my cake!" Jareth roared. "Guards!"

For once, the guards swung into action. "AHHHHHH!!" yelled a goblin, swinging a broom at the firey's head.

The firey laughed gleefully and disengaged his head, levitating above the cake. The broom missed the firey, but hit the cake in a spectacular fashion, completely knocking off the first tier and spraying it all over the crowd. Unperturbed, the crowd simply licked the bits of the cake from their clothing.

"Mmmm, nutty!" said a pixie happily.

It was only when certain members of the crowd tried to lick cake off the clothing of those _around_ them that the fights broke out. In no time at all, the air was littered with flying bodies. Some, such as the woodland sprites, gleefully enjoyed the novelty of flight; others, such as Hoggle, were not as amused and made it their goal to land on as many of their brethren as possible in order to share the pain around. The goblins, who were used to being thrown across the throne-room by the King, were more blasé about the experience—after all, they had been thrown by the best. The brownies calmly sought out a higher vantage point and began to rate the performance of the throwers.

"That one only deserves a four out of ten—the goblin was still conscious when he landed," Fitch said critically, watching one of the dwarf gardeners throw a small goblin across the room.

The other brownies nodded in agreement.

"Eight!" they yelled as a fairy, clutching a chicken, was thrown clean across the room by a troll.

Meanwhile, the goblin guards continued to methodically beat the cake with brooms in order to dislodge the firey's torso which was still nestled in the tiers. The firey's arms, however, were retaliating by throwing chunks of cake and icing at the guards.

"AHHH!! I'm blind!" yelled a guard, his eyes covered in icing. "It's all over for me! Tell my chicken I love her!"

Jareth ducked as chunks of cake came flying his way. He reflexively caught a pixie that was about to hit him in the head and gracefully threw it out of the tower window.

"TEN!" yelled the brownies.

Jareth smirked at the brownies, and settled down in his throne to better watch the scene. He noted that the woodland sprites were doing a fine job of beating a troll into unconsciousness with a serving tray, and laughed heartily as the guards finally extricated the firey from what remained of the cake. He watched with a satisfied smirk as the goblins fled the throne room with the firey's limbs, the firey's indignant head following in close pursuit.

But as the marvelous chaos raged on around him, Jareth soon began to feel…

Detached.

_Weary. _

Even watching the fairies poke at Hoggle with his worm-on-a-stick was doing little to lift his spirits. His sense of despondency grew as the members of the crowd who could still walk, or crawl, or fly, made a consensual agreement to move the fight to the courtyard in order to be closer to the ale; after all, a _drunken _brawl greatly enhanced the potential for more exotic injuries than a simple throne room brawl. Soon, the only moving creatures in the throne room were himself and the brownies, who were running around trying to catch drops of icing on their tongues as what was left of his birthday cake dripped down from the ceiling. _Well_, he consoled himself, _at least there wasn't a fire this year._

Jareth was pondering his options for the evening—he could fly around, feeling depressed; he could lounge around, feeling depressed; or he could lie around, feeling depressed—when he felt a tap on his boot. He looked down and saw one of the smaller goblins.

"Ah, Majesty, we managed to save this for you," said the goblin.

The goblin held out a chunk of cake in the palm of his greasy little hand. Jareth looked at the cake and noticed a few pieces of broken glass, what appeared to be a tooth, and several pieces of orange firey hair poking out of the icing.

"You are truly generous, Squint, but I appear to have lost my appetite. You go right ahead," Jareth urged.

"Thanks, your Majesty!" Squint said and stuffed the cake into his mouth.

Jareth shuddered gracefully.

"Oh and Majesty," said Squint, around the mouthful of cake, "the big stone fountain in the courtyard is on fire."

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is that even possible?"

Squint shrugged. "They worked really hard at it."

Jareth sighed. "Well, I'm impressed. Go and put it out."

Squint nodded and ran off.

In accordance with previous years, Jareth took the fire as a signal to leave the festivities. Taking a last look around the wreck that was his throne room, he noticed small pieces of brightly colored wrapping paper littering the floor. He stared at the paper and contemplated Sarah's role in his birthday this year. Apparently she had helped his subjects to buy presents for him, and yet, if they were to be believed, she did not know what they were purchasing. To be fair, it was abundantly apparent that his subjects hadn't known what they were purchasing either. He looked down at his slingshot and rolled his eyes.

Sarah. Without even thinking about it, he began to conjure a crystal…and then stopped, cursing his weakness. He paused for a moment and then gave a regal shrug. _What the hell_, he thought, _it's my birthday. I'll give myself a present that I actually want. Happy birthday to me_. He conjured a crystal, and there, reflected in its centre, was Sarah. In amazement, Jareth watched as Sarah did something so…unexpected…so utterly whimsical…that it made his heart skip a beat. Without another thought, he vanished from the throne room.

(Which, unfortunately, meant that he wasn't around to help the brownies when a large chunk of cake fell from the ceiling, trapping them underneath. After waiting for an hour to be rescued, the brownies were forced to eat their way to freedom. During their ordeal, they voted unanimously to declare cake as one of their natural enemies)

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2: **

Oh what is the unexpected and whimsical thing that Sarah is doing? Does it involve llamas? Boybands? Origami? All of the above? Free floral slingshot to anyone who guesses correctly!

(And no, she isn't dancing around her room in her pajamas to Sir Mix-A-Lot's _Baby Got Back._ That's usually the unexpected and whimsical thing that _I_ am doing each evening…)

(And what is on the King's t-shirt? Go to my bio and click on the link to Mercuralis's fanfic pic of the King in a t-shirt. All will be revealed...)


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Many many thanks for the reviews! I wish I had read them _before _I had decided on what whimsical and unexpected thing that Sarah was doing. Your ideas were much better than mine, particularly those that involved flagrant Goblin King impersonations, sock puppets, salmon-serenading, and piggybacking. In fact, what Sarah is _really _doing is going to seem so mild in comparison. Damn…

WintherRose: I would make a lousy husband. I am such a rake…

Hellica: I'd be a terribly mother. Really. The kind that keeps forgetting that she has kids ("Is that mine? Wow, I guess I shouldn't have left it on the roof of the car…"). It's why I'm never breeding.

Jack Hawksmoor: Dammit! Why didn't I think of wrapping Sarah? That's it, I'm going to get the reviewers to write my stories from now on.

thetankgirl:Your grammar is way better than mine. Really.

yshtabi: Thank you for letting me be your first. I promise I will still respect you in the morning.

* * *

_This chapter comes to you courtesy of the exemplary beta skills of __Phuriedae__ and Mercuralis. They particularly shine when it comes to those pesky adult-type touching scenes. Oh how I love those girls! (in a non adult-type touching manner) _

**DISCLAIMER: **The Labyrinth is oh so not mine. Please be warned that this chapter contains many gratuitous references to Jareth's chest. It is also rich in crotch references and _Post-it _notes. Something for everyone, really…

* * *

**Chapter 3: Nothing Says 'Old Friends' Like Baked Goods On A Window Ledge And The Odd Carnal Act**

Sarah could not believe that she was about to do something so…unexpected…so utterly whimsical. Not that she was averse to performing the odd unexpected and whimsical act; it was just that ever since she had started writing, most of her more fanciful notions tended to be channeled into her stories. So while her heroines danced in the rain and wished upon stars, Sarah used an umbrella and spent her nights with her head down, typing, rather than looking up at the sky.

But, for whatever reason, her unexpected and whimsical aspect was back in full force tonight…and it was baking.

Sarah looked down at the chocolate cupcake in her hand, took a deep breath, and walked over to the open window as quickly as possible. Carefully, she placed the cupcake in the very centre of the ledge, straightening the blue birthday candle. She wondered briefly if she should have added more silver sprinkles to the white icing; this was Jareth, after all—the man positively reeked of glitter. She snorted. _Like the sprinkles even matter—he probably won't even know it's there, _she told herself. _He probably won't even come. _Still, the thought did not stop her from arranging the cake, just so, on the ledge. _It's just in case_, she said to herself.

Though, she had to admit that the thought of waking up tomorrow and seeing the little cake still sitting on the window ledge made something inside her twist in a most uncomfortable manner. It was the same vicious little twist that she felt in the past whenever she imagined what it would be like to call upon the Goblin King and to have him not respond. She wasn't entirely sure _what _was twisting; she had vague hopes that it was actually her spleen or pancreas or one of her lesser organs, though she had a rather disturbing feeling that it was actually her heart performing a rather complex form of cardiovascular origami at the thought of the Goblin King not coming to pick up his little birthday cake.

She sighed and stepped back from the window. "Good luck, little cupcake," she said, saluting the cake in a rather jaunty fashion before padding back to her computer.

She had only been typing for a few moments when she heard a strange little scratching sound coming from behind her. When she turned, she saw a snowy white barn owl perched on the ledge, tilting its head quizzically at the regal little cupcake. She watched, feeling exceedingly pleased, as the owl strutted around the cake in a rather kingly manner.

"Go ahead and give it a try—it's not drugged," she said impishly to the bird. "Which is more than I can say for _some _people's presents."

The owl gave her a rather disdainful look which made Sarah laugh. With an odd sense of déjà vu, Sarah watched as the curtains around the window began to flutter and then billow as the night breeze suddenly surged though the open window, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, and scattering goosebumps along her bare arms.

And then, just as quickly as it started, the breeze dropped. She heard his voice—that mocking melodious voice that she remembered so well—before she saw him.

"Now, now Sarah—you go and spoil a perfectly wonderful gesture by saying something hurtful and true."

Sarah moved her windswept hair from her eyes and looked toward the window.

_You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King._

For a moment, she was almost disappointed. He wasn't standing imposingly before her, hands on hips, looking down at her with a regal sneer; he was lounging on the window ledge, looking at her with elegant indifference. He was not clothed in black and armor, or white and feathers, nor was his cloak swirling menacingly around him in the breeze; rather, he was casually dressed in what appeared to be leather and was completely cloak-free. _Maybe his more impressive outfits are at the cleaners,_ she thought slyly.

Even so, when the Goblin King began to scrutinize her with his intense mismatched gaze, Sarah realized with a start that he was still just as commanding and imposing and arrogant and terrifying as she remembered. Though, she admitted, the longer that she held his gaze, the more she found herself supplying new adjectives to describe him— adjectives like 'sultry', and 'sensual', and 'delicious' and 'lickable', which technically wasn't even a word but was disturbingly applicable when looking at the Goblin King through much older eyes.

Sarah clenched her jaw—it was a fine time to loose her immunity to his physical charms. For a second, she contemplated running but quickly lifted her chin. _You are older, smarter, and curvier than you were the last time you bested him. Let him run from you. _

She lifted her brow, unconsciously mimicking one of his gestures. "Perhaps in honor of your birthday we should call a truce?"

He arched his brow in return. "How very _generous_ of you. By all means, let's let bygones be bygones. I'll just bill you for the damage you did to the Goblin City during your last jaunt through my Kingdom some other night," he said blandly, brushing glitter from his leather pants.

Sarah's jaw clenched. "Now it is _you_ who are being generous, _your Majesty_. By all means, let's forget the past. After all, what's a drugged peach or two amongst old adversaries?"

Jareth sighed in mock distress. "Oh Sarah, you cut me to my very heart," he said, putting his hand on his chest. He then feigned a puzzled expression and moved his hand over his torso, as if searching for something.

"Hmm, where did I put that heart of mine?" he asked, his hand now patting down his jacket. "Oh, that's right…I don't have one," he said indifferently, though there was a bitter little undercurrent in his tone.

Sarah was about to say something appropriately cutting when her attention was suddenly caught by the cupcake. It lay in the palm of his hand and, to her surprise, she noticed that he was holding it the same way that you would hold a small bird—gently, protectively, almost reverently—his thumb carefully stroking the tin foil case. He was holding it as if it were something infinitely precious rather than a simple little cake that was identical to a dozen more in her kitchen.

Sarah puzzled over the contradiction between what he was saying and the way he was holding her gift, and then…

…just like that…

…she had what could be called a 'moment of clarity' and realized that he was still living up to her expectations. She smiled at him rather fondly.

"Still playing the villain?"

Jareth stilled. She could practically see the next insult die on his lips. He tilted his head and looked at her as if he was actually _seeing_ her, and it was clear that what he saw both pleased and surprised him. He gave her a rare smile.

"It passes the time," he said conspiratorially.

Sarah's smile widened in response. "I'm sure it does. With all the bogging, and the goblin kicking, and the baby snatching, I bet you hardly get a moment to yourself," she said mischievously.

Jareth sighed rather dramatically. "So true. I am exhausted living up to everyone's villainous expectations."

"But surely there have to be some perks…?"

Jareth appeared to ponder the question. "Well, there is the bogging, and the goblin kicking, and the baby snatching…"

To her surprise, Sarah laughed. She noticed that Jareth looked oddly pleased by her response. He tapped his finger against his lips and gave Sarah a considering look.

"So, if I am not to be the villain this evening, who am I? What role shall I play?"

Sarah considered that for a moment. "Well, if you like, we could swap roles. You can be the plucky heroine and I'll be the villain."

His lips twisted into a half smile. "Hmm, possible. Surely it can't be too hard to be the plucky heroine."

He brought his hands up in a rather girlish gesture and raised the pitch of his voice in a mocking imitation of Sarah's. "'It's not fair'…'piece of cake'…'you have no power over me'…'come Hedgewart, let's cause an extensive amount of damage to the Goblin City and let the King foot the bill'…'oh look? Is that a chair? Let's find a ballroom to smash up'." He lowered his hands and shrugged elegantly. "I believe I have it down pat," he said in a rather bored tone, though there was a hint of challenge in his mismatched eyes.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Right. So that's how it was going to be. She picked up a heavy round paper weight from her desk, stood up, and began strutting toward him, pelvis-forward, in a very Goblin King-esque manner.

She held up the paperweight before the King. "Do you want it?" she asked in a clipped British accent. "It's a crystal…though, if we want to get really specific, sometimes it's a snake, or a ballroom filled with perverts, or a large steel machine that will try to smear you all over the tunnels. Though it's not a gift for an ordinary girl who likes to bust up ballrooms with a chair. What's that? You want nothing to do with it? Nothing, nothing tra la la? Don't defy me! You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth…oh no, make that ten. Such a pity."

Jareth looked at her fondly. "It's like looking in a mirror," he remarked dryly.

Sarah smirked. "Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to swap roles."

"Perhaps not," he agreed.

He watched her as she walked back across the room, noting the sultry movement of her hips under her loose black pants and the silken swing of hair around her shoulders. When she bent over to put the paperweight back on her desk, his was suddenly very pleased that he had made the trip to see her. He tilted his head and admired the view.

Sarah sat back down on her computer chair and turned to face him; he quickly replaced his devilish leer with an expression of polite interest.

"My goblins tell me that you are now a writer," he said in as conversational a tone as he could muster in his current state.

Sarah was stunned. She hadn't realized that the goblins had spoken to their King about her. She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. "I write fantasy stories. I've written three volumes of short stories, mainly about the creatures in the Labyrinth. They're pretty simple really, but they sell well and people seem to enjoy them."

Worried that she was babbling, Sarah stopped talking, but the Goblin King seemed genuinely interested.

Sarah would have been stunned to know that the King had a copy of her books locked safely away from the goblins in a silver box engraved with stars. She would have been completely flabbergasted if she knew that each night, he would sit on the window ledge of his tower room with one of her books, impatiently flicking past the stories of dwarves, and beasts, and brave knights, and resourceful heroines, to the parts where the villain appears before the heroine—the villain who was typically cruel and cunning and taunting, but also beautiful and mesmerizing and the proud owner of a rather fabulous wardrobe. To his complete delight, the villain and the heroine even shared an embrace in one story; though he was always careful to stop reading immediately after the embrace so that he avoided the part where the heroine vanquishes the villain by saying a few magic words and beating him quite mercilessly with a chair. Such a pity.

Jareth gave Sarah one of his most charming smiles. "Given that we have outgrown our previous roles, why don't you use your story-telling skills to spin us a new story?"

Sarah inclined her head graciously and pursed her lips. "Maybe we should start with something simple." She settled back in her chair. "Once upon a time, a young woman placed a gift on her window ledge for an old friend," she began, smiling at his incredulous expression. "When he arrived to collect his gift, they spoke, _quite_ _pleasantly_," her lips quirked, "about old times and mutual acquaintances…"

Jareth raised a delicately arched eyebrow. "And that is all? Forgive me for saying so, Sarah, but this story is distressingly bland."

"It's a work in progress," she said pertly.

Jareth tapped a finger against his lips. "It would be greatly enhanced by the addition of an oubliette or two."

"No oubliettes," Sarah said firmly.

"Bog?"

She shook her head.

Jareth snorted. "My story was much better," he said, inclining his head toward the small red book sitting on her dresser.

"It's a work in _progress_," she said a little defensively. "I'm making it up as I go along."

Jareth inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Old friends," he said slowly. He rolled the words around in his mouth, savoring them, testing them for sharp edges and finding none. He gave her a considering look. "You have far more experience in matters of friendship than I, so you will have to instruct me on what this may involve."

Sarah smiled in return. "I'd be happy to do so, your Majesty."

"Tell me, will we be the kind of 'old friends' that meet up regularly for quaint little chats where we discuss the events of the day?"

Sarah pretended to ponder the matter. "Sure. That sounds like something that old friends would do."

He appeared to consider that. "And will we be the kind of 'old friends' who play chess and other games of skill and chance, gleefully reveling in light-hearted competition?"

Sarah's lips quirked. "I don't see why not."

He tapped his finger against his lips. "And will we be the kind of 'old friends' who indulge in carnal acts of unbridled passion for hours unnumbered, to the point where we are both insensible to anything but our mutual pleasures and desires?"

Sarah blinked. Her eyes widened at the thought, and then narrowed rapidly when she saw the challenging gleam in those mismatched eyes.

"Don't push it Goblin King, or you'll be the kind of 'old friend' who is forced to leave abruptly after receiving a nasty blow to a sensitive part of his anatomy," she said, rather pointedly.

Jareth tapped his finger against his chin. "I have rather sensitive earlobes, though I gather those were not what you were threatening."

"Definitely not your earlobes," Sarah confirmed.

He sighed. "Pity. I was prepared to engage in such vigorous acts of _friendship_, if only to liven up the story," he said generously.

Sarah merely snorted.

In an impossibly elegant motion, he swung his legs off the ledge and gave Sarah a mocking little bow.

"Very well then. Here am I, an _old friend_, who has come to collect his non-drugged gift," he raised the cupcake, "and to talk about old times and mutual acquaintances. In a _pleasant_ fashion."

His smile, with its bared canines and a touch of predatory menace, said otherwise_. _But unfortunately for Jareth, his pointy predatory smile was completely wasted on Sarah; she was too busy looking at his clothing. It was not his leather pants that first caught her attention, oddly enough. Nor was it the beautiful, goblin-fashioned, high-collared brown leather jacket. Rather it was his t-shirt. The fact that the mighty Goblin King was wearing an Aboveground t-shirt rather one of his customary borderline-indecent, silk poet shirts, was in itself an oddity. The fact that the elegant Goblin King was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the slogan _You know you want it_ in jaunty gray letters was practically inconceivable. Even amidst her shock, Sarah wondered why the Goblin King had thought it necessary to start advertising.

Jareth noted Sarah's surprised expression and smiled a rather sardonic smile. "Well?" he said, gesturing to his shirt. "Laugh?"

To her surprise, Sarah realized that laughter was not her first response to the t-shirt slogan…but she quickly repressed that rather dangerous train of thought and twisted her lips into a tight smile.

"That's a new look for you," she said. "Though it's a little more 'frat boy' than 'fairytale king', don't you think?"

"Sometimes subtlety can be grossly over-rated," he said with an elegant shrug.

_Which explains the pants, _Sarah thought, looking at his flashy crystal belt buckle which had a tendency to catch the viewer's eye and draw it downward. She quickly caught herself as she inadvertently made that downward journey. She looked up and noticed that Jareth was looking at her…looking at parts of him.

Quickly, she spoke before he could say anything. "So, did you fit in a shopping trip the last time you snatched a child?" she said, gesturing to his t-shirt.

The King glanced at her flushed cheeks knowingly and smirked. "'Snatched' is _such _a vulgar word, Sarah. I prefer 'collected' or 'acquired', or better yet, '_liberated_'. Actually, what you see here in all its glory," he said sardonically, gesturing to his t-shirt, "is one of my more exotic birthday gifts…gifts which you so generously obtained for my subjects. I came to thank you for your assistance, if not your taste." He looked down at the shirt and sighed tragically. "Really Sarah—cotton?" he said, fingering the fabric in mock distaste.

"Oh no," said Sarah, shaking her head. "All I did was order them. I'm not taking responsibility for that shirt."

Jareth walked across the room and sat down in the comfy armchair opposite her chair. He carefully placed his cupcake on the desk. "Believe it or not, the shirt was the best of the presents you ordered."

Sarah raised her eyebrow. "You're kidding."

Jareth settled more comfortably in the chair, hooking a leg over the armrest. "I only wish. The brownies bought me a slingshot. Would you like to see it?"

"I'm almost afraid to," she confessed.

"Clever girl. You should be _very_ afraid." He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out the g-string.

"What?!" screeched Sarah.

Jareth stretched it out so that it was displayed in all its lingerie glory. "They were rather proud of the floral motif," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "They decided that it must be a flower-killing slingshot."

Sarah started laughing. And after a surprised minute, Jareth joined her. _It's rather nice,_ he thought, _to be laughing with Sarah, rather than sending heavy pieces of machinery hurtling toward her down a tunnel._

Sarah pulled her hair back from her face. "I thought it odd that they were looking through the women's lingerie section. I was starting to suspect that you may have some hobbies that I wasn't aware of," she said slyly.

Jareth gave her a dull stare. "None that require a _slingshot_," he said pointedly. He idly spun the g-string on his index finger. "I was infinitely grateful that they didn't insist that I try it out…or try it on. Can you imagine?"

Sarah did just that and started laughing again, picturing the goblins cheering Jareth on as he put on the lingerie. She looked up and noticed that he was giving her an odd look—a look that slowly scanned the length of her body, from her tips of her bare feet to the top of her glossy dark hair, lingering on all the curves in between—and with a start she realized that he was picturing _her_ trying it on and clearly found the vision quite pleasing. She stopped laughing.

He tilted his head. "Do you want it?" he asked, holding out the slingshot, a rather devilish gleam in his eyes.

Inadvertently, she looked at the slogan on his t-shirt. "No thank you, your Majesty. I would hate to deprive you of your birthday gift," she said primly.

Jareth inclined his head gracefully, though there was still a gleam in those mismatched eyes and a rather hungry slant to his smile.

Sarah took a deep breath. "So what was the third present?"

The hungry smile quickly disappeared as Jareth snorted. "A book."

"Books are good."

"_Some_ books are good," he corrected with an icy smile. "Others are so appalling that one develops an indescribable urge to shove burning coals into one's eyeballs so as to avoid reading the next passage. My birthday book falls into the latter category."

With a flourish he pulled out _A Rake's Wanton Lust_ and handed it to Sarah.

"Oh…that's…that's…" Sarah started laughing again.

"Yes. Yes it is," he said dryly.

"Why did they get you that one?"

"Apparently I reminded them of the hero." When Sarah raised an eyebrow, Jareth leaned toward her. "We both share a love of wearing pants," he answered conspiratorially.

Sarah looked at the hero, then over at Jareth. "So you do! Wow, the resemblance is remarkable…"

Jareth leaned back into the armchair. "I thought so myself. And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, they insisted that I read a passage from it. Do turn to the top of page fifty-six," he instructed with a rather regal wave of his hand.

Sarah quickly flicked through the book. "Why do I think this is going to be bad?" she asked.

"Because you have noticed a trend in my birthday festivities."

Sarah read the passage and her eyes widened. "How much of this did you read to them?"

Jareth grimaced. "Thankfully I stopped after "throbbing love wand". If I had read any more, they would have asked questions that I was far too sober to answer."

Sarah smiled slyly. "I can imagine."

"Even so, one of them asked what kind of wizard carries a love wand."

Sarah started laughing so hard that she almost started crying.

"It really wasn't funny at the time," he noted.

"Oh I bet it was," Sarah said, gasping. "I bet I would have found it hysterical."

"No doubt you would have, you minx," he muttered.

Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh Jareth, I'm sorry you had such a lousy birthday."

_Jareth. _He inhaled sharply at the sound of his name on her lips, and then tried to cover it up with an elegant shrug.

"There have been worse. There was one birthday where the goblins staged a play of my life-story. That in itself is a horrifying thought, though it was made infinitely worse when one of the cretins had the brilliant idea of casting chickens in the lead roles. Given that my life-story is quite lengthy, and that the chickens were understandably quite poor at learning their lines, the play went for three days straight, after which I relocated them all to the bog. Except for the chicken playing me—it was surprisingly charismatic, for a chicken," he mused.

Sarah grinned at him. "So, with that as a basis of comparison, this birthday isn't so bad?"

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Nothing is as bad. Being dipped in the bog isn't as bad. Besides, this birthday is definitely looking up, _old friend_," he said, smiling at her graciously.

He looked down at his t-shirt and grimaced. "Of all the gifts I received, this t-shirt was clearly the winner, heaven help me. Though the goblins, imbeciles that they are, seemed to think that the slogan had something to do with chickens."

"Why would they think that?" asked Sarah.

"Apparently there was a chicken next to it on the screen—that was why they chose it."

"A chicken?" Sarah said incredulously. "_This _I have to see."

She spun her chair around so that it was facing her computer and quickly clicked onto the website where the goblins had bought the shirt. She felt rather than heard Jareth rise from his chair and stand beside her. He bent down and placed his head just over her shoulder; his face was so close that she could feel the warmth of his cheek against hers. The long tips of his gold-spun hair mingled with her own around her shoulders, the feathery wisps of gold tickling her temple. She took a deep breath and almost cursed when she inhaled the leathery scent of his jacket and something else…something crisp, and fresh, and almost sharp. _Moonlight would smell like that_, she mused. Sarah pushed down that fanciful notion and clenched her jaw. She quickly flicked through the website, trying to ignore the fact that the King's cheek was only a hairsbreadth away from hers.

She eventually found the picture of the King's birthday t-shirt and blinked.

"Well what do you know," Jareth drawled. "The cretins were right." He paused. "For once," he amended.

Next to the shirt, was a picture of a chicken that, inexplicably, was saying "Chicks will find this shirt irresistible!"

Jareth grimaced. "Let's hope this chicken is misinformed; given the poultry population in my kingdom, wearing this shirt could be catastrophic."

"You'd end up with quite the chicken harem," Sarah said grinning.

Without thinking she turned to him. He was so close that her eyelashes brushed against his cheek, and for a moment... a rather delicious moment…she had the oddest impulse to brush his cheek with her lips to see if it was as velvet soft as it looked. She quickly pulled away, but not before she heard him inhale sharply. For some reason, that made her feel better.

She quickly looked back to the screen. "So," she said a little shakily. "The mystery of the chicken is solved."

"Evidently," he said.

It may have been her imagination, but Sarah thought that his voice sounded just a little huskier than normal.

Jareth looked over the t-shirts, bemused. "Actually, after looking at some of these, I do believe that they bought me one of the least offensive."

Sarah nodded. "It could have been worse—they could have bought that one," she said mischievously, pointing to a t-shirt that had _Your boyfriend wants me_ written over the chest in bold red letters.

Jareth snorted. "How very droll. I can only count my blessings that the chicken wasn't standing next to that one. Though, I would have much preferred this one," he said pointing to _I'm with stupid. _"It would have been appropriate regardless of whom I was standing next to…present company excepted," he said graciously.

"Many thanks, your Majesty," she said dryly.

Jareth laughed and moved away from her and, for a moment, Sarah missed the warmth of his body against her back. She turned her chair so that it was facing him and watched as he looked around the room.

"It's so quiet here," he said, closing his eyes in pleasure. "There are no goblins chewing on my boots; there are no chickens being wrestled under my throne; there are no screams of 'no, not the bog, Sire!'."

Sarah smiled and took a good look at the king. She noted the faint purple shadows under his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth.

"You look…"

_Beautiful…broken…supremely ravish-able in leather._

"…tired," she finished lamely.

Jareth sighed. "I am tired. Every day it's the same thing—'your Majesty, he stole my chicken', 'your Majesty, such-and-such is on fire', 'your Majesty, I've fallen down an oubliette.' Your Majesty, your Majesty, tra la la. My life is a never-ceasing routine where my subjects fight and squabble and I kick or bog them. And if it isn't my subjects, then it's the summoners with their cries of 'I wish the Goblin King would take so-and-so away right now', followed by their utterly predictable amazement and disbelief when I actually appear. The same scenarios again…and again…and again. And there is absolutely no end in sight. So yes, I am tired—completely tired of my existence, or tired of existing; frankly, I can't tell the difference anymore." He rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. "Lately, I've been thinking about how pleasant it would be to be rendered unconscious on a permanent basis."

He said it without even thinking; he was merely just saying out loud what he had been ruminating about all day—what he ruminated about _every_ birthday. So it was with some surprise that he felt something soft hit him in the face with considerable force. He opened his eyes and realized that he had been hit with a pink throw cushion that, oddly enough, seemed to have a set of bite marks on it. He looked over at Sarah. She was staring at him angrily, her hazel eyes blazing.

"There is enough time to think about the joys of being permanently unconscious when you are dead," she said pointedly, and threw another cushion at him.

He ducked. "Good lord Sarah, I didn't ask you to assassinate me!"

"Then stop saying things like that!" she said angrily and threw another cushion at him. "Or I'll do it with pleasure."

"Really Sarah, you are acting like a barbarian," he scolded, though he looked rather delighted by her barbarous ways.

"And you are acting like a drama queen!" she said, launching another cushion toward him.

"That's '_king_', Sarah," he said patiently, catching the pillow. "Not '_queen_'. _King_. Heaven forbid that I need to enlighten you on the anatomical differences between the two."

"I'm sure that the differences would be _small_. Negligible even," she said. For a second, she wondered if she had crossed the line. Then she mentally shrugged; an enraged Goblin king would surely be better than a morose one. "Certainly nothing worth boasting about," she added for good measure.

Jareth looked completely affronted and dropped the pillow. He quickly began to weigh up the pros and cons of settling the matter, once and for all, with a visual display, when he suddenly noticed Sarah's suppressed grin and the sly calculating look in her eyes. _Minx_, he thought.

Jareth shook his head in a pitying manner. "Tsk tsk, Sarah. It appears that your knowledge of anatomy…_kingly_ anatomy…is lamentable. Apparently you will require a lesson after all—one with many diagrams…drawn to scale." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Though where shall I find such _large_ sheets of paper? I'll have to have them made especially..."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary—I have some _Post-it_ notes on my desk. They should suffice," she said, trying not to laugh as she gestured to the small yellow notepad.

Jareth took one look at the tiny yellow stationary pad and his expression darkened.

"That," he said in a cold clipped tone, "is a declaration of war."

Sarah gasped as the pillows that had been scattered on the floor began to levitate. She looked up at Jareth and he gave her a smug look that seemed to say _Small adhesive sheets of paper, hey?_ and waved his hand.

The pillows attacked.

Sarah yelped and ran to her bed, ducking for cover.

Jareth threw back his head and laughed. Oh but this was marvelous! He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, burning away his boredom. He felt so _energized_. The challenge…the defiance…the battle—how he had missed this! How he had missed…

Damn.

_Here we go all over again, _he thought in despair_. _He shook his head ruefully. _You have no sense of self-preservation do you, my fine fellow?_

Nevertheless, he watched in delight as Sarah fought her way through the pillows, flinging them across the room. _She'd be throwing them at me if she knew just how close I was to whisking her away to my Castle, _he thought with a smirk. Even though she was on the other side of the room, the floral scent of her hair was driving him to distraction.

"You are still a dirty rotten cheat, _old friend_," she huffed while wrestling a rather persistent pillow.

Jareth made an elegant little gesture with his hand and smiled his pointy smile. "It's important to practice."

Throwing the final pillow to the ground, Sarah grabbed a stuffed bear off her shelf of childhood keepsakes, and threw it at Jareth as hard as she could. Jareth deftly pulled the bear from the air and threw it back to her. Reflexively, Sarah caught it, but as she started to throw it back, the little brown bear came to life. Sarah watched in utter amazement as the small bear stretched luxuriantly, growling a little. She laughed in delight as the little bear snuggled up against her shoulder, growling loudly in pleasure as she stroked its back. She looked up at Jareth and noticed that he was smiling at her…a strange wistful little half smile that was completely at odds with the haughty mask of the Goblin King. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then stopped.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You would care?" he said simply. _If I ceased to exist._

She could tell that he had tried for indifference, but there was something so raw about the look in his eyes that it made a complete and utter lie of his tone. Sarah's heart twisted a little over the fact that he even had to ask her that question.

The little bear stilled in her arms. With a final, distracted pat, she turned and put the bear back on the shelf, taking the time to compose herself.

"Of course," she said carefully, her back to the King.

When she turned back to him, he was looking at her as if she were a puzzle that he could not quite fathom.

"Would you like to share my birthday cake with me?" he asked rather regally.

Sarah shook her head. "Oh you shouldn't share it! I made it just for you," she said as she moved off the bed and sat back down in her chair.

Jareth tilted his head. "You made it especially for me?" he asked, inordinately pleased.

Damn. She hadn't wanted him to know that she had taken the trouble to make the cake herself. It was a little too revealing. Sarah quickly tried to cover her tracks. "Well, it's not lik-"

Jareth quickly leaned forward and put a gloved finger over her lips. "_Sarah_." It was a caress not a spoken word. "Considering the day I have had, I ask that you be generous and let me have this small victory."

Sarah took a deep breath and nodded, the movement causing his finger to shift over the surface of her lips.

"Fine—but just this once," she conceded.

He gave a short laugh and gently traced the curve of her lower lip with his gloved finger. She stared at him in surprise, but before she could say anything, he gave her an enigmatic little smile and dropped his hand, turning to look at his cupcake.

"So, shall we verify if this cake really is as non-drugged as you say it is, old friend? You, of course, will be taking the first bite," he said slyly.

Sarah rolled her eyes, and tried resist the impulse to lick her lower lip to see if it tasted of leather. She watched as Jareth conjured a small silver knife. Just as he was about to cut the cake, she put her hand over his.

"You can't do that."

Jareth looked down at Sarah's hand, so pale against his black glove. "I beg to differ," he said, a trifle bemused. "I am quite capable of using cutlery, I assure you."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she said patiently. "You can't cut it until you blow out the candle and make a wish."

Jareth looked surprised. "You want to grant me a wish? No-one grants my wishes."

He looked so happy that, for a moment, Sarah wished that she had the power to grant him whatever he wanted. She sighed a little regretfully.

"Jareth, the last time I looked I wasn't a genie, or the tooth-fairy, or your fairy godmother."

Jareth gave a short laugh. "I would say that was obvious, given that genies are typically obese males, the tooth-fairy was decommissioned after she was caught performing unnecessary dental procedures on several mortal children, and my fairy godmother went to the dark side and was having a splendid time until a house fell on her."

Sarah blinked. House fell on her? Hang on. She shook her head, not wanting to be distracted. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I don't have the power to grant you a wish, Jareth. And even if I did, I'm a little worried about what you'd ask for—a bigger bog, perhaps?"

The edges of his mouth curled up in a smile. "What if you did have the power to grant my wish?" he asked curiously. "What if it was something small, something you would not consider valuable, something you would not miss; would you grant it?"

Sarah thought about that. "If it was small, something that I don't consider valuable, something that I will not miss, then I would agree to grant your wish." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "But hear me, Goblin King; if your wish is to have me put on that slingshot, I will throw something at you that's far pointier than a pillow…"

Jareth looked at her in surprise. And then the surprise became something dark, and sultry, and distressingly carnal, and all at once she felt the need to both move away from him and to move closer. Closer was winning when he spoke.

"Damn," he said ruefully. "I didn't even think to wish for that. I am clearly out of practice when it comes to being lecherous. Which is probably a good thing, given that I only have the goblins to practice on…"

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself," she said, smiling sunnily. "You're doing pretty well for a lecher past his prime."

Jareth raised an eyebrow at her. Before she could even blink in return, his booted leg shot out and curled around the base of her computer chair. Sarah let out a surprised squeal as he dragged the chair toward him, her knees suddenly trapped between his, his forearms leaning on the armrests of her chair. Smirking triumphantly he leaned forward until his face was a bare inch away from hers, the pupils of his strange mismatched eyes dilating as he stared at her. She swallowed but held his gaze. He noticed her refusal to cower and smiled a slow pointy smile, his tongue running along the tips of his canines. He leaned forward even further so that his lips were just above her ear.

"Just give me a moment, precious thing," he whispered silkily. "I'm sure it will all come flooding back to me."

She couldn't help it. She shivered. The feel of his breath against her throat, the warmth of his mouth against her earlobe. Damn it, she shivered again. _If this is him out of practice, I would be in _huge_ trouble if he was at full strength_, she thought a little breathlessly.

She heard him laugh in response to her shiver. And then she gasped as she felt him blow gently along the delicate skin of her throat, his warm breath tracing a path from her earlobe down to the hollow where her throat met her shoulder.

"Yes," he said huskily, the tip of his tongue flicking out to taste the skin over her pulse. "It's all coming back to me." He entwined his fingers around a lock of her hair.

The cool air from the room hit the moist spot where his tongue had touched her skin and she shivered again. And just as she decided to start enjoying this rather pleasant turn of events, she felt him move away from her. As he sat back, he let the silky strands of her hair slide between his gloved fingers.

"Though I still have a long way to go," he said thoughtfully, looking critically at her flushed cheeks and rapid breathing.

"You're closer than you think," she said a little unsteadily. And then cursed when she realized that she had spoken out loud.

He gave a short bark of laughter and Sarah shook her head to clear it. _Get a grip,_ she thought sternly.

She cleared her throat. "Shall we cut the cake now?" She was proud of how steady and nonchalant her voice sounded.

Jareth nodded, amused. "But of course—I'm anxious to get my wish."

She pulled her chair backward, away from his. Out of his reach. _You idiot_, she thought, _you practically _dared_ him to nuzzle you._ She bit her lower lip and shuffled through her desk draw until she found a book of matches. _Try not to dare him to ravish you senseless while he cuts the cake._

In her current state, the idea was not unappealing

Sarah finally looked at the King and, despite her better judgment, she found herself smiling. He was looking at the little cake with an expression that could only be classified as excitement.

"Ok, make your wish. A small wish that doesn't involve nudity," she warned as she lit the candle.

He sighed tragically. "There go all the good wishes."

Jareth closed his eyes and paused, obviously taking his wish very seriously. He then quickly blew out the candle, smiling when Sarah clapped her hands. He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "And now may I cut my cake?"

"Now you may cut your cake," she said graciously.

With a flourish, Jareth cut through the cupcake and handed her half. She watched as he carefully removed the candle from his half and placed it in his pocket. He then took a bite.

"Ok?" she asked, a little self-conscious.

He nodded happily. "Much better than ok."

She felt irrationally pleased. "Well, I'm sure you're probably sick of cake by now. The goblins said they were making a special cake for you."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Yes. It was a little too special; it was stuffed full of firey and it ended up on my throne room ceiling. The piece I was offered had been scraped off the floor and contained bits of my subjects, so your gesture is much appreciated," he said, taking another bite.

Sarah smiled. She had only just taken her first mouthful when Jareth made an impatient gesture. "I would like my wish now, before you conveniently change your mind."

Sarah finished eating before answering. "Tell me again, which of us said "you have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth" and then changed it to ten?" she asked pointedly. "Of the two of us, only _you_ have the tendency to change your mind."

Jareth smiled with infinite charm. "Exactly. Which makes me an expert on such matters. Hence why I would like you to grant my wish now."

Sarah saw the rather calculating gleam in the King's eyes and swallowed. It was one thing to say she would grant a wish, and another thing entirely to actually do the granting. And she couldn't help but remember…

… _will we be the kind of 'old friends' who indulge in carnal acts of unbridled passion…?_

Still, a promise is a promise. She lifted her chin. "Very well, _old friend, _what did you wish for?"

He stood up gracefully and held out his hand to her.

"You want to dance with me?" she said incredulously.

He only smirked and pulled her to her feet. "Well of course, precious thing. Whatever were you expecting?" he asked in mock outrage.

She had been expecting carnal acts—well, given her stipulation, nudity-free carnal acts, which, admittedly, would have been difficult, but possible, if one had sufficient imagination—and by the look of his smirk, he knew it.

"I'm not really dressed for it, I'm not even wearing shoes," she said inanely.

Amused the Goblin King looked down at her bare feet.

"Hmm, it appears that you have some kind of disease," he said, pointing to her toenails which were painted a shade of red so deep that it was almost black. "In fact, the color of those nails suggests that they may fall off at any time. Poor Sarah—soon to be toe-less. Such a pity," he said sympathetically.

"I'm not diseased!" she said indignantly, looking down at her toenails. "I'm wearing nail polish…"

But when she looked up, his eyes were full of mirth. "You are insufferable," she said, sighing.

He threw his head back and laughed as he drew her into his arms. He dipped his head, his lips just above her earlobe. "I think they look positively delectable. Kissable, in fact," he purred.

Sarah swallowed. Hard. "I see your lecherous ways are returning in force."

"It's all coming flooding back," he said silkily, his breath causing her hair to flutter. "Are you ready?"

She straightened her shoulders. "Of course, old friend."

He looked down at her with a smile that said _Old friend? How deliciously naïve! Why, I am here to _devour _you, little girl._

"There isn't enough room to dance in here," she said a little breathlessly.

"You are just going to have to trust me, Sarah, because I'm going to waltz you through every room of your house," he whispered caressingly.

And then they were dancing. The room was small and yet Jareth gracefully spun them around so that they danced through every inch of spare space. He deliberately maneuvered Sarah into a tight area between her bed and the desk, giving him an excuse to pull her closer—so close in fact that there was not a sliver of light between their bodies. He noticed her quick indrawn breath and the flush on her cheeks with a great deal of masculine satisfaction. He looked over at the _Post-it_ notes and gave them a triumphantly smug look. The _Post-it_ notes had the good grace to concede defeat.

It turned out that there were a lot of tight spaces in Sarah's room and by the time they had visited them all, both of them were breathing quite raggedly. Needing a respite, Jareth led them out into the living room, waltzing them around the couch and the coffee table in graceful arcs. By the time they had danced their way to the kitchen, Sarah was enjoying herself immensely. She looked up at Jareth and noticed that he was smiling down at her.

"You were really serious about visiting each room, weren't you?"

"But of course. I only have one wish—I want it to last," he said, moving her between the fridge and the kitchen bench, and then swinging her out again.

Sarah started laughing and he joined in as he danced them gracefully down the small hall. Smoothly, he removed his hand from her waist, opened the bathroom door, and led her into the white-tiled room without missing a step.

"Ok, now this is ridiculous," she said laughing.

"Really Sarah. I wouldn't scoff at your wishes," he said sternly.

There was barely enough room to turn, so he had them move in sliding steps up and then back down across the tiles and then out the door.

He waltzed her back up the hall to another door.

"That's just a broom closet," Sarah said.

Jareth tsked. "Really Sarah, where is your faith?"

He turned the handle and Sarah closed her eyes, expecting to be hit by the games, and brooms, and old textbooks, and unwanted Christmas presents that she had crammed inside and shut the door on. But when nothing fell on her from above, she opened her eyes and gasped. They were not in the broom closet, but were dancing in the crystal ballroom. It was just as she remembered it—draped in white and pearl, with candelabras filled with perfumed candles—but this time, there were no other dancers. She looked at Jareth and then down at herself, and realized that their clothing had changed to fit the room; she was now gowned in the sparkling white fairytale dress of her peach dreams, whereas he was wearing his blue bejeweled coat…and a smug smile.

"Funny, I don't remember this being in here the last time I looked," she said archly.

"Tsk tsk Sarah—after your time in the oubliette, you of all people should know that broom closets are never what they seem."

"Cheat," she muttered.

"Cynic," he responded.

"_Romantic_," she said accusingly.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "What a cruel thing to say."

He led her around the dance floor, spinning her in ever faster, ever more dizzying turns, until she was holding onto him for dear life, laughing joyously. He took her laughter as encouragement and spun them faster still, until she felt as though they were flying, floating, falling, and rising all over again with every turn. She held his gaze—his laughing, triumphant gaze—and he became the only solid thing in the room, the very center of their spinning little vortex.

After he danced them around the cushion pit, they found themselves back at the broom closet, and they waltzed through the door back into the hallway. She felt the second that her fairytale gown dissolved back into her black pants and singlet top, and watched as the King's finery became his leather outfit and provocative t-shirt. Despite the fact that they had lost their fancy clothing, they were both grinning at each other, drunk on the dance. Sarah noticed that it suddenly felt very natural to drape her hand around his waist rather than place it stiffly on his shoulder, and even more natural to rest her head against his chest and let him lead them wherever he wished.

Soon, all too soon, they had danced their way back through the hall, and the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the living room, until they were standing in the middle of her bedroom where they had started. With a final turn, Jareth brought them to a stop. Sarah lifted her head from his chest, expecting him to step back but he did not release her. Instead he looked down at her intensely, as if he were savoring the moment, storing it away.

And then slowly…ever so slowly…he pulled away, and there was something in his eyes which said that this simple movement had cost him something very large.

Sarah looked up at him and felt her heart pound even faster than it had when they were dancing. "Is that all you wanted?" she asked breathlessly.

He gave a rather strangled laugh. "Oh, precious thing, I'm old, not dead. The wishes that I _could_ have made would have curled those delightful toes of yours." He brought his lips right above her earlobe. "I have had _such_ dreams about you, Sarah—dreams to build many a wish on," he purred in a voice that was shaded with longing and more than a hint of sin.

He moved back until he was looking down at her, and slowly began to trace the curve of her cheek. "But given our past, I thought that even a dance would be more than you would ever grant your child-snatching villain." he said simply. His lips twisted in a self-mocking little smile. "Wishes are precious and I couldn't afford to waste a single wish when it comes to you, Sarah. I was content to wish for so little if it meant that it had a chance of coming true."

And at that moment, Sarah felt her heart began its strange little origami game with a vengeance. It was twisting twisting twisting so viciously that she pressed her hand against her chest.

"I didn't give you a present," she said breathlessly.

He smiled. "You gave me non-drugged cake and a wish."

"But I didn't give you a _present_."

"It wasn't necessary."

"I should have given you a present,"

"Really, Sarah this is getting repetitive,"

"Happy birthday," she said, reaching up and curling her fingers into the wide lapels of his leather jacket. She had a moment to register his look of complete surprise just before she kissed him.

It was a brush of lips, something almost chaste yet many degrees stronger than platonic, full and freely given, and just so sweet. To her complete and utter surprise, Sarah discovered that Jareth's lips were tingling, almost as if they were humming with an electric charge. _It must be the magic, _she thought groggily. It was like kissing raw current; it brushed along her lips and made them shiver and the sensation was just so delicious, so different from anything that she had ever felt that she leaned in closer and kissed him more deeply, feeling the current begin to flow down the length of her body until she too, felt electric. As an experiment, she allowed her fingers to wander over the bare skin of his neck and, with a little thrill of pure pleasure, she found that the magical current was there too. Touching his bare skin made her _shiver_. The carnal possibilities of such a discovery made Sarah moan against his lips. She entwined her fingers into his feather-soft hair and pulled him closer to deepen their kiss.

Jareth had moved long past his initial surprise; he felt Sarah's lips on his, her fingers in his hair, and her moan against his mouth and heaven help him, his heart almost leapt from his chest. He shuddered.

_Shuddered._

As if he were a novice when it came to kisses. As if this was his first. Though, he conceded, in a very important way, it was; it was his first kiss toward forever with his Sarah. She tasted like chocolate. She smelt of flowers and vanilla. She felt utterly perfect in his arms. He growled low in his throat and let her go long enough to quickly strip off his gloves. He slipped one bare hand through the silken strands of her long dark hair until he was cradling her head, pulling her closer; he slid the other under the back of her singlet top, running his long fingers in languid circles over the smooth skin of her back.

At the touch of his bare hands against her skin, Sarah tore her mouth from his with a gasp and shuddered so violently that she would have collapsed if he had not been there to hold her up.

"Shhh," he whispered consolingly, brushing his lips back and forth against hers.

"You _tingle_," she gasped.

He smiled as he trailed his lips along her jaw. "I've noticed on occasion."

"You could have warned me," she said accusingly as he began to kiss all the shivery places behind her ear.

"And spoil the surprise?" He gave a low laugh against her skin. "Not to worry, precious, you'll get used to it."

"I certainly hope not," she said, and brought his mouth back down to hers.

This kiss was exponentially better than the last, and even in her hormone-drenched state, Sarah was able to calculate that if one kiss made her tingle, and a second made her burn…then surely a third would make her incandescent…and a fourth…well, that would probably be worth bartering her soul for.

After several such soul-bartering kisses, they were forced to break away to catch their breath.

"When is your birthday Sarah?" he asked huskily, scattering kisses along her throat.

It took her a while to register the question. "You missed it."

"How lax of me," he said, running his lips over her collarbone. "Then I owe you a wish and a present."

Sarah gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her throat. "I wish for more kisses," she said, tilting her head back.

Jareth brushed his lips against hers. "How many? This is a wish, precious thing; you have to be specific."

"Many," she said softly, as he dropped kisses at the corners of her mouth, on the crest of her cheek, on her temple.

"How many?" he whispered against her skin.

"Hundreds…thousands…millions…"

"…as many as there are stars in the sky?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

Sarah nodded, reaching up to run the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.

He moaned. "But precious thing, that would take a very long time. Possibly even forever."

She nodded distractedly, closing her eyes as his fingers caressed the back of her neck. "Yes."

He sighed and pulled away a little. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, coaxing her eyes to open. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes glazed, her lips red and bruised with kisses, her skin flushed, and he almost cursed himself for what he was about to say.

"_Sarah_," he said, making her name sound like a melody. "Do you know what it is that you are asking for? I will offer it to you, but you must be sure that you want it before you accept. Wishes are binding, and as much as I want to grant your wish—and I do, good lord how I do!—I do not want you to accept merely because I 'tingle'," he said with a rueful smile.

Sarah noticed that the King looked concerned. Beautiful, and wild, and lust-crazed, and _concerned. _It was a lovely surprise, really. She opened her mouth to answer him, but he covered her lips with his finger.

"Say nothing. I'll grant you the time to think about whether or not you want this."

"But I wish-"

He quickly placed his whole hand over her mouth. "Good lord Sarah, I'm trying very hard not to play the villain but it is far more difficult than I expected. I _want _to be villainous right now but I'm trying very hard to be the hero."

"Who made you the hero?" she mumbled under his hand.

"Humor me; I'm trying to see how the other half live."

"But-"

"Don't defy me."

Before she could protest, he quickly moved his hand and replaced it with his mouth, kissing her till they were swaying dizzily on their feet.

Sarah eventually broke away from the kiss and looked at the slogan on his t-shirt. "Look, you can try to be as heroic as you want but your t-shirt is _daring_ me to accept you."

Jareth sighed. "Sarah, this shirt was recommended by a _chicken._ It should hardly dictate the course of our lives."

"I'm with the t-shirt on this one," she said firmly, laying her hands over his chest.

She reached up and brushed her lips against his, taking his lower lip between her own and biting it gently. With an almost reluctant moan, he kissed her again. Smiling a little against his lips, she ran her hands down his shirt, tugging a little till it came free from his leather pants. She slipped her hands beneath the material, until she felt warm bare skin humming under her palms. Mesmerized she slid her hands …slowly…over his lightly muscled abdomen, her thumbs caressing the hollow of his navel. A rush of electric current tore through her palms and up over her body, lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck. The sensation was just so glorious that she couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to lie against him, skin-to-skin.

Jareth tore his mouth from hers and shuddered. "It appears that you and that shirt are conspiring against me."

She smiled impishly up at him.

"Be that as it may, I am not backing down," he said in strangled whisper as she explored the muscles of his back with her fingertips.

"Really?" she said, her fingernails lightly coursing his skin.

He inhaled sharply and cupped her face in his hands. "Really," he said firmly.

He bent his head and kissed her savagely. It was a kiss that burnt and branded; it tore through her defenses and seared his very soul into hers. It was a kiss that gave her a taste of an immortal's desires and the intensity was so completely outside the realm of human experience that it should have made her tear her mouth from his and run from the room.

Sarah pulled him closer. She wound her fingers into his starlit hair and dragged him down, her mouth claiming his in return. With a feral growl, he pulled her hips hard against his body, sliding his hands under her top and over satiny skin, tracing shivery paths over every inch, every curve. She began to shake uncontrollably from the strange pleasure of it, moaning against his lips as the tingling beneath her skin became a hard pulse that beat through her veins in time with his heart.

Overall, it was too much.

Far too much.

Her mouth fell away from his and she slumped against his chest, boneless. She tried to breathe. "Fine. Be the hero," she shuddered, letting her head fall back so that she could look up at him.

His eyes were dark and wild and he had never looked more inhuman. "I'm glad that you've seen my point of view," he rasped.

He placed his forehead against hers and they stood that way for several long moments, trying to catch their breath.

Sarah licked her lower lip. "How long do I have to wait before I make my wish? The standard thirteen hours?"

Jareth nodded tightly. "That would seem fitting."

"Though technically you only gave me ten."

"How villainous of me. Perhaps we'll make it ten—for old time's sake."

She pulled back and looked at him shrewdly. "Ten Underground hours or ten Aboveground hours?"

"I would think ten Aboveground hours."

"Damn," she said.

"I couldn't agree more."

She very deliberately slid her hands under his shirt, rubbing her thumbs in slow circles under his pendant.

"Make that Underground hours," he hissed.

Sarah smiled a rather triumphant smile.

Jareth gave her a look of rather reluctant admiration. "No more of that, precious thing." He gently broke their embrace. "I'm leaving now before you seduce me into granting you only ten minutes to decide." He snorted. "Being a hero is exceedingly overrated."

Sarah laughed and touched his cheek. "Don't get too used to it—I think I prefer you as the villain."

Jareth smirked. "What a relief. Being noble is such a bore. All that chivalry and self-sacrifice…" He made a dismissive hand gesture. "I'd rather just ravish you."

As he turned toward the window, he caught sight of her desk and grimaced.

"In the meantime, would you do something for me?"

Sarah smiled. "I guess I can afford to be generous to my hero."

He gave a short bark of laughter and then became quite serious. "I would like you to get rid of those yellow pieces of paper," he said, looking at the _Post-it _noteswith extreme distaste.

Sarah laughed. "Whatever did they do to you?"

"Offend my vanity," he said regally.

"I'm surprised you don't just bog them."

He tapped his finger against his lips. "That would be a fitting punishment …"

Sarah looked at him incredulously. "You would be so vengeful toward a defenseless pad of paper? I guess what you said earlier was true—you really are heartless."

Jareth looked over at the _Post-its. _"I wouldn't say that I am without a heart. More that it seems to have been _misplaced_."

"Oh that's convenient! Where ever did you misplace your heart, your Majesty?" she asked impishly.

He rolled his eyes. "You should know, you minx," he said taking her hand and pressing it against his chest. "I left it in your keeping."

Before she could say a word, he bent his head and gave her a brief searing kiss.

And then…just like that…he was gone.

And she was left with just the taste of his kiss on her lips, the feel of his heartbeat against her palm, and, oddly enough, a floral slingshot in her hand.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2:**

Sarah didn't realize until the next day that her _Post-it_ notes were gone. They now reside, quite happily, in the bog. Such a pity.

(Oh dear. I feel an epilogue coming on. I keep thinking about that karaoke machine…in the hands of the goblins. What do you say—will Vanilla Ice's _Ice Ice Baby _echo through the throne room? Will Jareth gyrate to _I'm too sexy_? Do review. Stop the madness before it begins)


	4. Epilogue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE #1**

I know, I know—it has been ages since I updated and I apologize profusely. I've been traveling for the past two months (yep, it sucks to be me), and some of that travel was by donkey—an event that was probably far more traumatic for the donkey than it was for me. Let's never speak of it again (shudders)

As always, many many thanks to all those who have reviewed! And what jolly fine reviews they were! (daringdemon81: You read my mind! Hope you enjoy the goblin serenade). My thanks also, as always, to the awe-inspiring Mercuralis and Phuriedae not only for their words of advice, but for beating the evil out of this chapter.

(Btw Collette Longbottom has drawn a rather marvelous pic of Jareth receiving his floral slingshot—she does an exceptional job at capturing his angst (poor bastard). Check it out in all its glory on deviantArt or see the link on my bio page)

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this, really. It was written merely to amuse Mercuralis. No piñatas were harmed in the making of this chapter, although a karaoke machine was misused and many eardrums were violated. Oddly enough, this chapter is crotch-free, although there are two references to Jareth's leather pants. Very brief references. Hardly enough to warrant reading the chapter, really.

* * *

**Epilogue: The Gift That Keeps Giving**

_One Year Later…_

Jareth closed his eyes and carefully pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was his birthday.

Again.

And just like his birthday the year before…and the year before that…and the year before that (he winced at just how many 'year before thats' there actually were), he found himself in the throne room surrounded by his cretinous subjects, who at this moment were doing their very best to make him feel faintly suicidal. As he watched their disturbing attempts to entertain him, he was suddenly struck by the depressing realization that he would probably be doing the _exact_ _same thing_ on his birthday next year. And the year after that...and the year after that...and the year after that...

"Bloody immortality," he muttered to himself.

A sudden high-pitched wailing sound tore through the air, disturbing his train of thought. Jareth grimaced and looked up at the ceiling. To his extreme dismay, none of the stones directly above his head seemed loose. Apparently, this wasn't the birthday where the ceiling would collapse upon him, thereby rendering him unconscious and putting him out of his misery. He sighed. Typical.

The wailing grew louder and was now joined by a great deal of high-pitched screeching. To Jareth's sensitive ears, the noise was distressingly similar to that made by herds of vigorously-mating yaks. He shuddered and briefly contemplated pounding his head on the flagstone floor. Instead, he decided to go with the less disfiguring option of simply closing his eyes and putting his hands over his ears as regally as possible.

The wailing and screeching grew louder until all the dogs in the kingdom began to howl in response. Jareth distracted himself from the sound by imagining how positively _marvelous _it would be to rule over a kingdom that was completely goblin-free. He wasn't really fussy about what he'd get to replace the goblins—rabid ferrets, vicious fish, non-housebroken kittens—just as long as they were incapable of speech and did not force him to contemplate performing a lobotomy on himself with a pointed stick.

The wailing and screeching was now joined by the odd bit of yodeling and the entire cacophony of sounds suddenly escalated to the point where Jareth could feel his eardrums start to _shred_.

"Enough!" he roared, standing up from the throne. "Utter one more sound into that microphone and I will have you all doing synchronized laps of the bog before you can blink."

The three goblins who had been performing a rather stirring karaoke rendition of _My Humps_ stopped singing rather reluctantly. True, they had initially only selected the song because they thought that it was an ode to disfiguring hump-like skin conditions, but they had really gotten into it.

The goblin with the beaky nose pouted. "But your Majesty, we were just getting to the good bit…."

Jareth feigned a look of surprise and placed his hand over his heart. "Really?" He bent down so that he was at eye-level with the three small goblins. "Pray tell, my fine fellows—does this 'good bit' involve the song coming to an abrupt end when you and your tone-deaf brethren are hung by your earlobes over the bog? If so, I would be more than happy to ensure that we get to the 'good bit' as soon as possible," he said pleasantly.

The goblin with the dented helmet looked at the karaoke monitor. "Funny, the magic screen doesn't say anything about the bog. Or earlobes. Odd that."

The goblin with the twitchy eye pursed his lips. "Maybe we're not up to that bit yet. The magic screen says that we're up to the bit where everyone dances all twisty...like this."

The twitchy-eyed goblin watched the dancers on the karaoke monitor for a moment and then attempted to copy their stripper-esque dance moves. Badly. Very very badly. After observing him for a few minutes, his fellow singers joined in. The crowd looked on in horrified fascination as the goblins attempted a synchronized bump-and-grind move that was about as sultry as dried toenail clippings. Jareth tried to tear his eyes away from the awkwardly-gyrating goblins, but found that he could not; it was like watching a car crash, except with more booty-shaking.

It was only when the trolls started howling in protest that Jareth was able to shake off his own horror and step in. Calmly, he reached down and grabbed the twitchy-eyed goblin around the throat, lifting him up until he was at eye-level.

"Never. Ever. Do. That. Again," Jareth said with deadly calm.

"Which bit?" asked the goblin, his eye twitching more than usual.

"Every bit," Jareth bit out.

"Damn," said the twitchy-eyed goblin.

"Exactly," said Jareth and dropped him. The crowd laughed as the twitchy-eyed goblin landed on his fellow dancers in a rather chaotic little heap.

Jareth turned to a small goblin who was holding several pieces of parchment and a quill. "Squint, put this song on The Forbidden List."

"Noooo!" screamed the singing goblins as they flailed around, trying to stand up.

Squint looked up at the King, puzzled.

"Ahh which Forbidden List, your Majesty? _Forbidden Karaoke Songs Which, If Sung, Will Lead To A Hearty Bogging_ or _Forbidden Karaoke Songs Which, If Sung, Will Lead To Certain Death_?"

"Certain Death," Jareth answered grimly.

"Not Certain Death for the hump song!" wailed the goblins.

"Got it, Majesty," said Squint as he carefully wrote the name of the song at the very bottom of the list.

The crowd groaned heartily in protest.

At that moment, Sarah entered the throne room carrying a large bunch of silver balloons. She stopped when she heard the groans and moans of the crowd. Sighing, she looked at the King.

"Let me guess—more songs for The Forbidden Lists?" she said, eyeing the long pieces of parchment in Squint's grubby little hands. "If you keep putting every track that they sing on those lists, there won't be anything left on the karaoke machine!"

Jareth sighed and sat down on the throne, gracefully swinging his legs over the armrest.

"My love, I have been more than generous in allowing my subjects to use my birthday gift," he said, gesturing to the shiny karaoke machine. "And they have repaid me by trying to annihilate my eardrums. Really, those lists are just my form of self-defense."

Sarah looked over at the disappointed heap of goblins, who were still trying to stand upright. "I bet their song didn't deserve to be added to the list."

"We thought it was pretty good. It was rich in humps," said the goblin with the beaky nose as he tried to avoid being kicked in the shin by the goblin with the dented helmet.

Jareth snorted. "The last song was even worse than the _Spice Girls_ medley sung by the trolls."

The trolls looked a little sheepish.

"Oh," said Sarah, trying not to shudder at the flashbacks.

"Is Sarah allowed to sing what's on The Forbidden Lists?" asked the pixie with the gold wings.

"Sarah isn't allowed to sing at all," Jareth said blandly, adjusting his gloves.

Sarah dropped the balloons. "What?! I wasn't that bad!"

Jareth gave her a pitying look. "Sarah, the last time you sang, the fieries cried."

One of the fieries dropped the canapé he was eating and eyed Sarah nervously. "Just give us a runnin' start if you wanna sing again, boss lady."

The rest of the fieries nodded and stealthily edged toward the throne room door.

Sarah pouted and turned toward the smirking king.

"I wasn't _that_ bad," she said rather defensively. "It was just bad luck that I had to go on after you—you're a tough act to follow."

"That is true," Jareth said, tapping his chin in a thoughtful fashion.

It _was_ true. The King had performed a blistering, swaggering, pelvically-fueled set of the most testosterone-laden songs on the karaoke machine. He had strutted and preened his way around the throne room, levitating goblins, and performing a flashy little pyrotechnics display with the aid of a couple of crystals and a flashlight. Moreover, he had donned a new outfit for every number, including a rather dazzling pair of silver sequins breeches that had literally blinded four pixies, a goblin, and a woodland sprite who had been sitting too close to the King when his pants caught the light.

After the casualties had been removed from the throne room, the King had finished his set with a slow, soulful number that would have had the entire crowd swaying and raising their lighters...that is, if lighters had been allowed into the distressingly fire-prone throne room, _and _if the crowd could have been trusted to use portable flammable devices without setting fire to each other or any surrounding structures.

Sarah rolled her eyes and turned toward the crowd.

"How about you guys step away from the karaoke machine for a moment and give _His Majesty _a chance to recover his mood; in the meantime we'll play another game." She pointed to a brightly colored papier-mâché donkey that was hanging jauntily from the ceiling. "Now this," she said gesturing to the donkey, "is a piñata."

The crowd looked up at the piñata. The brownies, who had been limbering up for a version of _YMCA_ complete with hand gestures, were not pleased that karaoke had been halted for a paper donkey.

"Fraggin' piñata," the brownies swore.

Sarah gave them a stern look.

The goblin with the beaky nose eyed the piñata speculatively. "It appears to be some kind of demonic horse."

"Oh no, it's actually a donkey," corrected Sarah.

"I don't know about that," said the goblin with the twitchy eye. "It really does look like a horse."

"I agree," said the blue pixie. "It's very horse-like"

The rest of the creatures nodded their agreement.

"It's a donkey, you cretins," the Goblin King yelled.

"Yes, your Majesty!" the crowd replied automatically.

"If you say so," said the goblin with the dented helmet, eyeing the donkey rather dubiously.

The King winked at Sarah. "Do go on," he instructed.

Sarah took a deep breath. "Ok, you hit the donkey…"

"Why?" interrupted a small goblin who was riding a chicken.

"Yeah, it's not like he provoked us or nothin'," said one of the dwarf gardeners.

"He looks like a nice-enough fellow. Maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt," said the shy pink-winged pixie.

"Yeah Sarah! Give him another chance!" cried the goblin with the twitchy eye.

"Yeah Sarah!" chanted the rest of the crowd.

"Demonic horse-edy wokka-edy wokkawokka!" yelled the brownies.

"Really Sarah—be generous to the demonic horse," Jareth said slyly.

Sarah raised her eyebrow at the King. The King spread his hands in an innocent gesture. "I'm just trying to help."

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "I'm not sure that I need that kind of help. Don't you have something better to do? Something to bog? Someone to oppress?" she said archly.

The King grinned, his canines flashing, and made a big show of settling into his throne. "Not at all. It's my birthday, after all—surely the bogging and oppressing can wait until tomorrow."

Sarah smiled sweetly. "Then relax, your Majesty—I'll let you know when I need your particular brand of _help_."

Jareth bowed his head solemnly, though the look in his mismatched eyes suggested that he was wickedly amused.

Sarah turned her back on the King and raised her hand for silence

"The donkey is not real. He is a party decoration that I've filled with candy. If you hit him with this stick," she said, holding up a large stick that had been decorated with multicolored ribbons, "the donkey will break open and all of the candy will fall out."

The crowd pondered that information for a moment.

A small goblin raised his hand. "So the demonic horse has eaten your candy?"

Sarah shook her head. "Oh no, it hasn't eat—"

"And you want us to beat it out of him with that fine looking stick?" interrupted one of the goblin guards.

"No, not exactly. It's—"

"Even though the horse hasn't technically done anything wrong," interrupted one of the dwarves.

"No, wait—," she said, trying to get a word in edgewise.

"I'm confused!" yelled the pixie with gold wings.

"It sounds as though _someone_ could use some Kingly help," Jareth said in a sing-song manner, brushing a speck of dust off his leather pants.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair and gave the King an exasperated look. "Be my guest."

The King smirked and turned to the crowd. "Beat the demonic horse with the stick or I'll bog you," he announced dryly.

"Yes, your Majesty," chanted the crowd.

"That clears things up," said the gold-winged pixie in relief.

"Thanks," Sarah said a trifle sarcastically.

The King smirked. "What are _old friends _for?"

"Are there marshmallows in the demonic horse?" asked the goblin with the beaky nose.

Sarah nodded. "Lots of them."

The goblin with the beaky nose straightened his helmet. "That's it—the demonic horse is going _down_."

He took the piñata stick from Sarah and backed up a few paces. Taking a deep breath, he charged.

"Death to the demonic horse!" he cried as he leapt into the air.

With a mighty swing, he hit the donkey as hard as he could. The donkey swung wildly in the air for several moments and then slowed to a gentle sway, still in full possession of its candy.

"Well," said Jareth pleasantly. "That was anti-climactic."

Suddenly, the string that suspended the donkey from the ceiling broke, plunging the smiling donkey towards the floor. Thankfully, the beaky-nosed goblin broke its fall.

"AHHH!" yelled the beaky-nosed goblin from under the donkey. "It's getting its revenge!"

"Much better," said the King, smiling in satisfaction.

The crowd roared with laugher. After a few minutes of watching the beaky-nosed goblin waving his limbs frantically from underneath the donkey, Jareth rolled his eyes and motioned for the guards to liberate him.

"It appears that we have defeated the enemy, your Majesty," said one of the guards as he pulled the beaky-nosed goblin out from beneath the donkey.

"Well, that would be a first," Jareth said dryly.

Sarah looked down at the conquered donkey and bit her lip. "I don't understand what went wrong. I thought we had tied it up securely."

She looked over at the little winged goblin who had been responsible for attaching the donkey to the ceiling. He looked around rather shiftily for a moment and then hid behind a troll. Sarah rolled her eyes and looked down at the rest of the crowd.

"Well, I'm sorry guys—I guess we won't be having a piñata this year after all."

"Oh no! After all that, I want marshmallows!" yelled the beaky-nose goblin.

He shrugged off the guard, swayed unsteadily on his feet for a moment, and then began to beat the donkey with the piñata stick. After a minute, the other creatures rushed to join in.

"Precious, you may want to retreat to higher ground," Jareth said, patting the empty space beside him on the throne.

Sarah quickly made her way to the Goblin King, dodging goblins armed with brooms, trolls hefting clubs, and brownies wielding very sharp toothpicks. When she finally reached the throne, Jareth took her hand and pulled her down so that she was sitting on his lap. She leaned back against his chest and then wriggled a little until she was comfortable. Jareth raised an eyebrow.

"Continue squirming and your seat will become _less _comfortable rather than more so," he said meaningfully, wrapping his arms around her.

Sarah gave him a saucy little smile and wriggled a bit more for good measure. Jareth closed his eyes and swallowed. Watching his expression, Sarah smiled impishly and patted his cheek.

"Happy birthday," she said mischievously.

"It is indeed," he said, smirking.

A loud crash drew their attention back to the donkey; several woodland sprites were moaning on the floor, having accidentally found themselves in the path of a silver canapé tray wielded by a rather enthusiastic fiery. The crowd simply stepped over the dizzy sprites and continued on their merry way.

"I don't know what went wrong," Sarah said bemused, looking at the crowd as they gleefully beat the donkey.

"There, there," Jareth said distractedly, moving her long dark hair over her shoulder so that he could run his gloved finger along her cheek.

"There should have been candy flying out," she said wistfully.

"Yes, yes. Life can be cruel…," he murmured, running his lips along the curve of her ear.

"Are you even paying attention?" she asked curiously, inhaling sharply as she felt the familiar tingle of his lips brushing against her ear.

"Not at all," he said unrepentantly, tugging on her earlobe.

"Jareth!"

Although she had meant to sound indignant, Sarah's comment came out somewhere between a groan and a gasp because what he was doing with his mouth was really quite splendid.

Jareth sighed and pulled away. He looked over at his subjects.

"Sarah, they are happier beating that donkey senseless than they ever would have been if it had simply dispensed candy. Which, frankly, is a rather a relief—the last thing I need is for them to beat every horse, demonic or otherwise, in the kingdom in the hope that candy will come out of it."

Sarah looked at a pixie who was running toward the donkey. With an axe.

"Hmm, that's a good point," she conceded.

"Of course it is! I made it," he said arrogantly, watching from the corner of his eye to see her response.

Sarah knew he was baiting her and tried to stop herself from reacting. Then she remembered that it was his birthday. She rolled her eyes at him in a rather exaggerated fashion. Jareth threw back his head and laughed.

"Why do I get the feeling that you were indulging me?" he said slyly.

"Well, it is your birthday," she said, patting his leather-clad thigh.

"Very generous of you," he said, taking her hand from his leg and kissing her palm.

"I thought so myself," she said, sighing with satisfaction over her good deed.

He laughed again and placed another tingling kiss behind her ear, the tips of his wild blonde hair caressing her neck. Sarah shivered, closing her eyes at the feel of his lips and the feathery brush of his hair on her skin. Jareth smiled, _delighted_ by her response, so he did it again…and again…and then once again, for good measure…until he felt Sarah positively melt in his embrace.

"It seems as though I have found a rather vulnerable spot," he murmured against her skin. "I shall add it to the list," he purred, pleased.

"Pfft," she said, rather inelegantly, "It would be quicker to make a list of my _non_-vulnerable spots."

"They too, shall be conquered," he said decisively.

Sarah opened her eyes and smiled up at him rather lazily. But then her attention wandered back to the donkey, who was now leaking _Skittles_ onto the throne room floor. She grimaced.

Jareth looked speculatively at Sarah's distressed face and then at the donkey.

"Would you like me to bog it for you?" he asked with a sly smile.

Sarah sighed. "Why is it always the bog with you? There are other ways of dealing with conflict, you know."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "You would prefer that I _reason _with the donkey, perhaps? Or that I sit it down to discuss its _feelings_ about the matter?" he drawled dryly.

Sarah's lips twitched.

Jareth made an elegantly dismissive hand gesture. "It's an insubordinate paper donkey that refused to release its confectionary on my birthday—a treasonous act such as that one should be punished with a trip to the bog."

Sarah sighed. "Given everything that you send to that bog, it's surprising that it isn't more crowded in there."

"I am fortunate to own a rather _deep_ bog," he said, smirking.

Sarah merely shook her head and looked at back at the donkey. Jareth tilted his head, watching her thoughtfully.

"Hmm, I can see that you are tempted to bog the unfortunate creature."

Sarah hesitated and the King smiled triumphantly.

"Go on," he said persuasively, "think of the _marvelous_ splash it will make."

"You are the most terrible influence," she said with a reluctant smile.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, kissing her temple.

"Speaking of bogging, what do you think of your new birthday t-shirt?" she said, stroking the black cotton over his chest.

Jareth looked rather fondly down at his new _Don't Make Me Bog You _t-shirt. "It is most acceptable," he said. "Pity I can't say the same about my new book," he said, holding it up for Sarah to see.

Sarah peered at the title. "_The Cowboy's Rampant Hunger_,_" _she read, trying to smother a smile.

She took the book from Jareth and looked more closely at the cover. A red-headed cowboy, whose flannel shirt was inexplicably tight across his muscled chest, was leering down the cleavage of a buxom saloon girl. "So why did they buy you this book?" she asked curiously. 'Was it because you and the hero have a tendency to wear pants, just like last year's book?"

"No, it's because we both wear boots," he said, eyeing the cowboy's gaudy brown boots with distaste. "Though mine are infinitely superior."

"Ahhh," said Sarah. She made a great show of looking at Jareth and then the hero. "The resemblance is amazing!" she said in mock awe.

"Hmm, on second glance, the heroine on the cover looks remarkably like you," Jareth said, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Sarah looked at the blonde saloon girl, whose mountainous cleavage was trying to make a break from her flimsy bodice.

"Ahh…how so?" asked Sarah, eyeing the saloon girl's cleavage a little fearfully.

Jareth bent his head so that his lips were close to her ear. "Your toes," he whispered.

Sarah looked at the cover and noticed that the saloon girl was wearing red toenail polish. Smiling, she lifted her leg and pulled up her jeans until she could see her red-painted toes peaking out from her strappy sandals.

"Wow, we could be sisters," she said, looking at her toes.

"It's uncanny," Jareth agreed.

Sarah laughed and placed the book onto the floor. "So, are you enjoying your birthday, your Majesty?"

Jareth looked around the throne room and smiled. "Aside from the parts where I was forced to listen to those cretins howl into a microphone, this birthday has been quite pleasant. I attribute that all to you, of course."

"Really?" she said happily.

He nodded. "Take the decorations for instance." He gestured to the silver balloons and streamers that were scattered all over the room. "Typically, the goblins simply hang a bunch of sticks on the wall with maybe a chicken or two, if they were feeling particularly festive."

"Very rustic," Sarah said, smiling.

"Indeed. Though my favorite decoration happens to be that one," he said, gesturing to a small goblin whose friends were wrapping him from head-to-toe in streamers.

"Oh no!" said Sarah, trying to get up to help the mummified goblin. Jareth held her back.

"Don't worry, love—he'll be able to chew his way out."

Sarah could hear the goblin's muffled laughter coming from under the streamers so she settled back against Jareth's chest. Jareth smiled as he felt Sarah relax against him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For decorating the room with more than poultry and a couple of sticks. For baking the delicious birthday cake—which was blessedly free of fieries. And for that lamentable demonic donkey," he said, eyeing the rather flattened remains of the piñata with amusement. "I'll even thank you for that karaoke machine, though it is obviously capable of great evil when it falls into the wrong hands."

"You're welcome," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Though the karaoke machine wasn't from me—it was from all of them," she said, gesturing to the crowd. "I have my own birthday gift for you."

She scrambled off his lap and, reaching under the throne, brought out a chocolate cupcake. It was covered in white icing and small silver sprinkles; a blue candle had been placed very carefully in the centre. It was remarkably regal…for a cupcake.

Jareth smiled in delight. "I'm having a rather pleasant sense of déjà vu," he said, taking the cupcake from Sarah and placing it carefully on the armrest of his throne.

Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck. "I was thinking that we could reenact your last birthday…," she whispered in his ear, rubbing her nose against his cheek.

"What, all of it?" he said with a slow, devilish smile. He turned in the circle of her arms until he was facing her. "Will there be pillow-fights and those insulting little yellow notes?" he whispered, brushing his lips along her jaw. "Broom-closet dances, and birthday wishes?" he purred, feathering a trail of tingling kisses down the length of her throat until she shuddered and threw back her head, arching for him. "And will there be kisses before I leave and all sorts of _delightful_ carnal acts when I return?" he whispered huskily as he bent his head, lapping at the pulse at the base of her throat.

Unable to bear his wicked teasing a moment longer, Sarah entwined her fingers through strands of wild golden hair and dragged his mouth to hers. For a moment—one perfect, suspended, moment—she threw herself into the kiss, losing herself in the electric current that danced over his lips…the delicious heat of his mouth…the hard pulse of his heart against hers. She kissed him until he groaned against her lips and fisted his hands into her dark green t-shirt, trying to pull her closer, trying to pull her into his body. But she broke away and placed a finger over his lips.

"Which was only an hour later," she said a little dizzily. She slid up so that she was sitting a little straighter on his lap—quite an accomplishment given that her spine felt gelatinous from his kisses. "At the time, I was a little distracted but I always wanted to ask you about that. You promised me ten Underground hours to decide whether or not I wanted my wish but you came back only an hour later. So do tell, your Majesty—since when does ten Underground hours equate to a single Aboveground hour?" She removed her finger from his lips so that he could speak.

Jareth made a great show at nonchalance, though his mismatched eyes were still dark with all sorts of deliciously dangerous things. He raised an eyebrow. "When you are the King, of course."

Sarah grinned and mimicked him, raising her eyebrow just as regally. Jareth laughed, but then he noticed the stubborn glint in her eye and he sighed theatrically. "When I returned from your apartment that night, I found that most of my subjects were completely drunk and wedged in the hedgemaze—which miraculously, was not on fire—and rest were unconscious and sprawled in the singed fountain. My throne room was dripping with cake and hyperactive brownies, and my bedchamber was unacceptably Sarah-free. Really, can you blame me for speeding things up a bit?"

Sarah smiled. She reached up and traced his lips with the tip of her finger. "Not really. Actually, I was more surprised that you restrained yourself long enough to give me an hour. To think I called you my hero," she said, dropping her finger from his lips and shaking her head in mock disappointment.

He sighed tragically. "I am a lamentable hero."

But he didn't look at all repentant. In fact, he looked rather proud.

"Well, I'll give you this—you move quickly. If Sleeping Beauty had you as a hero, she would not have been in that tower for one hundred years."

Jareth snorted and pulled her closer. "That prince of hers was an idiot. If you were stuck in a tower, I would have liberated you in under five minutes."

"That's comforting," she said, resting her head on his chest and rubbing her cheek against his new birthday t-shirt.

And frankly, it was comforting to Sarah. This was a fairytale realm—one never knew what was around the corner.

"Unless I put you there," he added with a wicked glint in his mismatched eyes.

That was _less_ comforting and an unfortunate drawback of living with a slightly villainous king. Sarah looked speculatively at her dastardly king who was currently looking particularly smug.

"I wouldn't be in that tower alone would I?" she said archly.

He looked affronted. "Good lord no! Where would the fun in that be for me?'

Sarah laughed. "Heaven help me if you aren't having fun."

"It's probably wise to keep me amused," he agreed.

Sarah rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the cupcake. "So, what will you wish for this year, your Majesty? Not that I should grant you your wish—you still haven't finished giving me mine," she said accusingly.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "It's not through a lack of trying, my love. I only have one set of lips and you did ask for a lot of kisses, you greedy girl."

Sarah made a dismissive little hand gesture that she had picked up from the King. "Excuses, excuses—the time you spend arguing with me is time you could have spent fulfilling my wish." She pointed to her cheek expectantly.

He sighed sufferingly. "Add this to the count." He kissed her cheek and then dragged his lips to her earlobe.

"Will you grant me a wish?" he whispered huskily.

She shivered at the feel of his breath against her skin. "Will it be a dance?"

He pulled back and gave her a rather devilish leer. "Of a sort, precious thing. I was actually thinking something more along the lines of this…"

Jareth made a rolling gesture with his hand, conjuring a crystal. He allowed it to perch on the tips of his fingers for a moment and then offered it to Sarah.

Sarah peered into. Her eyes widened. "Is that even possible?" she said, blushing.

She looked around to make sure the creatures were not paying them any attention. They weren't—they were completely absorbed in watching a troll trying to swallow a balloon.

Jareth laughed low in her ear. "Not only possible but rather, shall we say, _invigorating._" He twisted the crystal a little to the right. "And if you turn it this way…which would allow us to completely discount gravity…"

He offered her crystal again with a rather heated look. Sarah took a deep breath and looked inside. She swallowed. Hard. And felt all the blood in her body run quite joyously toward her pelvis.

"That's it," she said decisively, "we're leaving." She went to stand, but he held her against his chest, laughing.

"We can't leave yet, precious thing," he said regretfully.

Sarah tried to wiggle free from the strong arms that were wrapped around her chest. "Well, when can we leave? What are we waiting for?" she asked impatiently.

Jareth was rather delighted at her impatience. "We are waiting for a signal that the festivities are at an end. It happens every year." He sifted his fingers through her hair soothingly.

Sarah gave up trying to escape and relaxed into his embrace.

"What kind of signal?" she asked, puzzled.

At that moment, a small goblin came running up to the King.

"Ahh, Majesty? Sorry to disturb you but the demonic horse is on fire."

Jareth smirked. "_That_ was what we were waiting for."

Sure enough, the donkey was on fire. The goblins and the other assembled creatures were now frantically trying to beat out the flames that were burning a bright sugar-fueled blue. There was a rather spectacular moment when the goblins tried to douse the flames with ale. The resulting bonfire singed the ceiling and removed the eyebrows off all of the subjects in the immediate vicinity of the flambé donkey. Not that they minded—

the eyebrow-less subjects were all incredibly proud of the fact that they had been injured so early in the celebrations. Oblivious to the chaos around him, the beaky-nosed goblin had liberated a couple of marshmallows from the donkey and was now roasting them quite happily.

"How is that possible?!" Sarah exclaimed, her nose wrinkling at the smell of burnt hair and paper donkey. "There were no torches or matches or anything to start this fire."

Jareth shrugged. "Love, I have learnt from experience that almost anything is flammable on my birthday." He turned to the goblins. "Put the fire out. I'll be in my chambers, unwrapping my present."

With a rather dastardly leer that was remarkably similar to that displayed by the cowboy on the cover of his new book, the King deftly picked up his laughing Queen and disappeared. The crowd coughed, waving away the clouds of glitter that marked the Royal Couple's exit, and looked over at the large pile of presents that were still sitting next to the throne.

"That's weird. He didn't take them with him," said the blue-winged pixie.

"Well, he was holding the Queen—it's hard to hold presents and a girl at the same time."

They all nodded at the wisdom of the words. And sighed. This year, the fire had come before the drunken brawl and they were all feeling a little lost over the fact that events weren't happening as planned.

"So…what's next?" asked the goblin with the dented helmet.

"It seems a pity not to have the brawl, it being tradition and all," said one of the dwarf gardeners.

"I guess we should just wait for it to happen," said the blue-winged pixie.

Sighing in resignation, the crowd settled down to wait. And, as luck would have it, at that exact moment, a shaft of sunlight came through the throne room window and illuminated the karaoke machine, which stood in the corner of the throne room, all shiny and out-of-bounds. Everyone in the crowd looked at each other and smiled rather fiendishly. With one eye on the door, Squint nonchalantly walked across the throne room and 'accidentally' dropped the Forbidden Lists on the flaming donkey…repeatedly…until they caught fire. The brownies made a break for the microphone.

"Singedy singedy wakkkawakkka!" they yelled triumphantly.

Thus, by the cheery glow of the demonic horse, the congregation sang all of the songs on the Forbidden Lists. Twice. Including the song about the hump-like skin condition, complete with a rather unfortunate bump-and-grind dance number.

And a good time was had by all…until the unfortunate incident with the turnip that started a whole new birthday tradition. But really, that's another story…

The End

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2**

For those who are interested, the Goblin King's karaoke set included the following tracks (many of which were requested by you, the reviewers. Sorry if I missed any!). So take a moment and picture His Tightness singing:

_ I'm Too Sexy_ (Right Said Fred). As requested by me and seconded by Kore-Of-Myth, Jill O'Brien, and AlleatoryMadness.

_ Pour Some Sugar On Me_ (Def Leppard): People, you should have seen Jareth gyrate to this one. As requested by Izzy Rockette/PIR

_ Sex Machine_ (James Brown). As requested by shechosedown.

_ Wicked Game _(Chris Issaks). As requested by Phuriedae.

_ Every breath you take_ (The Police): because, frankly, the guy is a voyeur.

_ Do ya think I'm sexy?_ (Rod Stewart). Yes, yes we do. As requested by LaniC.

_ Cream_ (Prince). Prince also wears fiendishly tight pants.

_ Sexyback _(Justin Timberlake): As requested by Mercuralis and Phuriedae.

_ Let's Get It On_ (Marvin Gaye). A song so sleazy that you really need to bathe in antiseptic afterward. Unsurprisingly, Jareth thought it was quite splendid. Dedicated to Jack Hawksmoor. You know you love it, Jack.

_ You Make Me Feel (Like a Natural Woman) _(Aretha Franklin). Jareth was having a great time singing this song …until he got to the chorus and the whole 'natural woman' bit. The goblin who chose the song was bogged. Repeatedly.

CoffeeKris, His Majesty refused point-blank to sing _Dude looks like a lady._ In fact, after it was requested, he had a hissy-fit and went up to his room where he spent an hour gazing sullenly at his peach lip-gloss.

For the record, _Forbidden Karaoke Songs Which, If Sung, Will Lead To Certain Death_ include: Vanilla Ice's _Ice Ice baby_, Ricki Martin's _She Bangs_, anything by Justin Timberlake, anything by the Spice Girls, particularly _Spice up your life_, and every song ever sung, recorded, or hummed in the shower by Celine Dion.

Do review—The Goblin King will happily take your song requests.


End file.
